The Lethe Stone
Author: Jocelyn A. Fox
Date: 2016-11-15 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: The great battle for the survival of the Fae is over…but the war is not yet won. Though they have defeated their greatest enemy, evil has slipped through the veil into the human world, and a cursed bone sorcerer wields his deadly power against helpless mortals. Tess O’Connor, the not-quite-mortal Bearer of the Iron Sword, must now strike a pact with the three Queens of Faeortalam to open a new Gate between the worlds. With a hand-picked band of warriors, she ventures back into the mortal world to search for a missing ulfdrengr, a Wild Court navigator, and a human who had fought alongside them
Publisher: Amazon LLC
Rights: All Rights Reserved.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Preview of Book 2

Prologue

About the Author

The Iron Sword

By

Jocelyn A. Fox

All Rights Reserved

This edition published in 2014 by Jocelyn A. Fox

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this work are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher. The rights of the authors of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Chapter 1

Queen Mab, ruler of the Unseelie Court and all its beholden lands, monarch of the Night and the Winter, once the most powerful being in any world, was not accustomed to waiting. She shifted slightly on her delicately carved throne, the silver bells sewn into the hem of her dress whispering a soft melody into the silence of the room. A few of the gathered Court steeled themselves against the sound, for Mab’s bells were intoxicating even to the Sidhe.

One of the Court Historians walked forward with an ancient scroll held carefully in his hands like an offering. The Historian, too, was ancient, but his slow and stately gait was the only indication of his age. He bowed low before the throne. Mab said nothing, regarding him silently until he straightened after a few long moments.

“My Queen, with your permission,” he said.

Mab nodded, barely inclining her head. The Historian carefully focused his gaze on her crown, her diadem of blazing stars, because to look the Queen in the eyes was a grave insult, unthinkable—and her power would ravish his mind, stripping away his innermost secrets, laying bare his soul. Even her own people, the subjects of her own Court, feared such power, though they feigned cool indifference. He held out the scroll. “We have found the Prophecy.”

“So it seems,” replied the Queen, her voice terribly, dangerously beautiful. “And tell me, is the half-mortal girl the one?”

“My Queen,” said the Historian softly, “it is never certain with Prophecies. But the Seers and the Historians have gone through the records, and we believe she is the one foretold.”

“That is well,” said Mab, settling back onto her throne, “since I have already summoned her.”

The Historian’s eyes widened slightly—ever so slightly—in surprise. A few of the Court glanced at each other, their eyes heavy with unspoken words. And then the Historian bowed again, lower this time.

“Does Her Majesty require anything else of her Scholars?” he asked.

“Continue to scour the oldest records. My instructions stand as before,” Mab ordered.

“Yes, my Lady,” the Historian murmured. He touched his brow in obeisance and left the throne room, cradling the scroll in his arms as gently as a newborn.

“Leave us now. I wish to speak to my Knights.” The Fae Queen’s voice rang across the room, filling every crevice with its power. She watched with cold eyes as the rest of her Court left silently, their beautiful faces carefully blank.

Three Knights knelt before her: her Named Knights, her champions, her favorite and most feared warriors.

“The girl has until sundown on the morrow to heed the summons,” Mab said silkily. “If she resists, then you, Vaelanbrigh, will go and fetch her from her mortal world.”

The Vaelanbrigh stood and bowed, but not as deeply as the Historian. He wore a sheathed sword at his waist, and the blade hummed softly as he straightened from the bow, his blue eyes grave. “As you command, my lady.”

The Queen stood and looked down at her three Knights. “Let us hope, for her sake, that she does not keep us waiting.”

***

Twilight settled softly over the rolling rocky hills. The cedar trees crouched low to the ground, spreading their branches possessively, grasping at the sky with clawing fingers. While the last glow of the sun lit the western skies, a silence settled over the hard country, glazing the gray rocks and cedars and spruce like ice. The land held its breath for a handful of minutes, waiting for the stain of sunlight to fade from the sky. As the velvety darkness of night caressed the curves of the horizon, the Hill Country slunk into life again.

We sat in folding plastic chairs on the crest of a swell in the land. Behind us squatted the cabin, really nothing more than one large high-ceilinged room. I shifted in my chair. The plastic webbing squeaked and complained beneath my weight. I watched the swallows as they danced in the dusk, folding their wings to dive and whisk through the long grasses for unsuspecting insects. Sullenly, I wished that the swallows would do a better job of hunting—maybe then I wouldn’t be slapping away mosquitoes. Texas mosquitoes, I decided, must be an evolutionary step above their Eastern cousins. I practically bathed in bug spray, the nasty smelly kind that is supposed to be reserved for deep-woods hiking and will probably give me cancer. But despite my sticky skin, the mosquitoes took a liking to me. I probably tasted different. Or my skin was softer, because I glanced sideways at Molly and she sat unconcernedly, her pale legs splayed out in front of her. I tucked my legs under my chair and rubbed my shins against one another. Maybe Texans, too, have evolved to be immune to mosquitoes.

“There, Austin, put ‘em in the fire ring,” drawled a voice in the dusk. The sound traveled like smoke through the cooling air, drifting slowly through the half-light.

Austin dumped his load of cedar branches into the raised metal ring. He tucked in errant branches and then arranged a little ball of tinder on top, looking up for approval before whipping out his lighter from the back pocket of his blue jeans and holding the little flame to the dry tinder. The tinder ignited, the flames devouring the dry grass and newspaper in next to no time. Austin squatted on his haunches by the fire-ring, poking here and there in the fledgling fire with a stout, long stick. The yellow light accented the hollows of his cheeks and the shadows nestled beneath his chin.

We’d moved into our dormitory during the lingering balmy dusk of an August night, already planning out the year ahead. It was the first year that Molly had put up pictures of her family. She’d talked about them, but not often, and I’d assumed it was homesickness that made her shy away from framed photos. We were twenty-one years old, balancing on the edge of the real world, sitting in a fluorescent-lit boxy room with bags against the closed door like sandbags against a flood, stemming the slow seep of reality.

“Oh,” Molly had said in the pitifully bare room as I sat nursing coffee from the cafeteria in a chipped blue mug, “Austin and I don’t look alike at all.” Her pale mouth quirked in a cynical smile. “He got all the good genes I guess.”

“Don’t say that,” I replied with all the staunch support of a best friend.

“No, really,” she continued stubbornly. “He doesn’t even have to go outside to get a tan, and I’m…” She held up her forearm, pasty white in the unforgiving dormitory lights.

“You look like a model with your pale skin, so don’t even try and pull the pity card with me.” I took a sip from my cooling cup and looked longingly at the packing-box containing my coffee-maker.

“People don’t believe me when I say we’re brother and sister.”

“I believe you,” I said, taking another sip of lukewarm coffee.

Molly smiled, her lips curving softly. “Thanks, Tess. You’ll love Texas…it’s all wide-open sky and space to think.” And then, with a sidelong glance at me, hesitantly she added, “How’s Liam?”

I leaned forward in my chair, balancing my elbows on my knees and twining my fingers together. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It gets cold in the mountains at night, so I sent him some warm socks and thermals. I send him letters, and emails when I can, but the forward operating base’s internet is horrible at best.”

Molly laid a light hand on my arm. “I know it’s hard, but…I mean, he’s gone through the toughest training that the military has to offer, right? That counts for something.”

“It had better,” I said, feeling the familiar, gnawing worry begin to bloom beneath my ribs, tracing the bones with acid, spreading in the space of one rapid breath like a spilled glass of water.

Molly smiled a little and shook her head. “What’s he going to think, when he hears your grand plan to join up after graduation?”

I shrugged. Six years older than me, Liam had been everything an older brother should have been, although my mother wasn’t particularly thrilled about his encouragement of my tomboy ways, to put it lightly. Liam had taught me how to fire a shotgun and throw a mean right hook, making sure that his little sister had all the tools she would need to defend herself in the wide, rough world. Now I was the one worrying about him, deployed off in the far mountains of Afghanistan. But he’d never needed my protection. What help would I ever be able to offer him? He stood a good head taller than me, muscular from football and lacrosse. If Liam couldn’t handle it, I’d bet that no one else could either.

“I don’t know if Liam’s objections are the ones I should be worrying about,” I said, more to fill the silence and still my own thoughts than anything else. “I don’t even want to think about what my mom is going to say.”

Molly made a noncommittal noise in her throat, reaching into her backpack to pull out a fashion magazine, clearly ignoring the boxes still cluttering her side of the room.

“Well, I’m sure Austin will want to show you his boxing skills. No live demonstrations.” Molly gave me a significant look and turned back to her magazine. “I don’t want to have to explain to my parents how my younger brother got his face rearranged. After all the Thanksgivings I’ve spent at your house, though, you might get a free pass,” she said thoughtfully. Then she made a face. “Although your mom always tries to feed me vegetables. I hate vegetables.”

I laughed a little. “Molly versus the vegetables. It’s been a showdown for three years running.”

Molly’s low laugh filled the spaces between our bags and boxes, curling down against the shadows in the room.

And so now I sat on a hilltop in front of a blazing fire, looking at Austin’s broad face, the well-balanced features and high cheekbones, deep brown eyes and blonde hair. I couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Molly, her face pale in the fading light. The angles of her face were sharper, more exotic than her brother’s wholesome, all-American handsomeness. She caught me looking at her. I refused to act like I’d been doing something wrong, so I held her gaze, a little challengingly. Her eyes were catlike, mottled dark brown and gold and green. The shadows settled in her short, dark hair, brushing featherlike against the sides of her face.

Molly’s father stumped around the half-circle of folding chairs and settled in the one straight across from me. The sound of the chair creaking as he propped up his boots on the rim of the fire-ring drew me out of my thoughts. Mr. Jackson pushed at the brim of his baseball cap with one hand and scratched his ear with the other. I sighed very quietly, waiting. “So, Tess, what’s a Yank do for fun?”

I tried not to blush even though it wouldn’t be visible in the darkening night. “We don’t sit around fires,” I said truthfully. “Unless we’re roasting marshmallows. Or at summer camp.”

“Wal,” said Mr. Jackson, “ain’t nothin’ more beautiful than sunset in the Hill Country. And you jes’ watch these stars.”

I tipped my head up dutifully, scanning the sky for the first stars emerging from the deep bruised blue of twilight. I sighed in exasperation when I found several brand-new mosquito bites dappling the skin of my leg.

“I can smell the bug spray on you from here,” Molly said. She laughed her low, sensuous chuckle.

“Well, it’s not helping much,” I huffed.

“Only your first night,” drawled Mr. Jackson, “an’ you’re tired of the bugs?” He chuckled, reaching beneath his chair for a can of beer. The pop and quiet hiss as he pulled the tab back on the can punctuated the fire’s monologue.

I slid down in my chair until I could rest the back of my head against the metal crosspiece. Silence settled over the five of us. I wondered if this was what we were going to do all night, sit around the fire and stare at each other with smoke blowing into our faces when the wind shifted. Molly scuffed the dirt with one sneaker. I stared at the brightening stars.

I leaned my plastic chair back as far as it would go, letting my ponytail hang over the back. A slight breeze stirred the fire, wafting heat onto my legs. Gooseflesh rippled over my skin at the contrast between the cool night air and the warmth of the fire. I had agreed to come to Texas with Molly for a week, since she had spent the last three Thanksgivings with my family in Pennsylvania. Here, with the unpaved roads and armadillos, she was like one of the cedar trees, wild and natural and completely unapologetic in her faded athletic shorts and oversize t-shirt. She belonged—or belonged more than she did at school.

“Shooting star,” I said as a streak of light shot across the night sky and disappear. In the distance, I saw the lights of the nearest cabin flick on, two tiny yellow squares on another hill, separated from us by a valley of darkness.

“Make a wish,” Molly suggested.

I closed my eyes and wished with all my heart for my brother to be safe.

Even though I wasn’t really a big fan of being eaten alive by mosquitoes while sitting around a fire for hours, I had to admit that once I got past the itching and smoke, there was something primal and beautiful about the untamed land. The star-studded curve of the night sky felt like a cathedral, free of the sounds of traffic and the neon lights of convenience stores. The quiet hum of life among the cedar trees and scrubby bushes carried on undisturbed by our presence.

I looked up at the stars and felt the freedom of the vast sky seeping into the top of my skull. I thought about what had drawn the first weather-beaten pioneers to these rocky hills and the valleys heavy with hot air, the cacti standing silent sentinel on the harsh plains of the deserts. The land became a part of those people, mapped in the leathery lines of their faces, the stony glint in their eyes. I wanted to feel a connection like that, to have something be so much a part of me it felt as though part of every breath I drew kept it alive.

The fire died down to embers nestled in the fire-ring. Kirby curled up beside Austin, tucking his nose under his tail and promptly falling asleep. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson talked quietly. The half-moon hung low in the rich black sky, no city lights to outshine its pale radiance. Molly nudged me. We stood and picked up our chairs, stacking them against the side of the front porch and prying off our muddied shoes.

Molly flicked on the light-switch, illuminating the one room of the cabin. On one side, there was a stainless steel stove and a sleek refrigerator humming quietly away; directly in front of the door, a bank of windows revealed the view of the Texas countryside. The high ceiling continued up to the very apex of the little house, paneled handsomely in polished wood. Handmade rugs covered the floor, and to the left of the door, a steep staircase—really no more than a glorified ladder—led to the loft. Molly pointed to the queen-sized bed situated comfortably under the loft, covered with a blue patchwork quilt.

“That’s where Mom and Dad sleep,” she explained, and then she pointed up to the loft. “We sleep up there. Normally Austin and I share the loft, but since you’re here,” she continued brightly, “he has to sleep on the couch.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” Molly reassured me. “It’s a comfortable couch.”

I climbed the steps slowly, so slowly that Molly made an impatient sound and prodded me in the back with one finger. I ignored her. She knew as well as anyone that my clumsiness appeared in force when I attempted ordinary things like climbing stairs, or walking. Tell me to run five miles, and I breezed through the run; but if I made it through a day without falling up the stairs or tripping on perfectly even concrete, I was happy.

A slight breeze carrying the scent of cedars and dry earth touched by starlight brushed my face as I walked over to my bed. Reaching into my bag, I found my cell phone and flipped it open. To my dismay, the brightly-lit display showed that there was no reception in the Hills. I stepped close to the window and pressed myself against the wall, holding my open phone as high as I could with one hand. No luck. I sighed in frustration.

“Communication with the outside world is forbidden,” said Molly, narrowing her green-gold eyes into a mockingly severe expression. “You are our prisoner.”

“Great,” I replied dryly, snapping my phone shut. “I get to sit around a fire for four hours every night and stare blankly at you.”

“We don’t just stare blankly at each other,” retorted Molly. “We have good conversations. There’s nothing to distract you. Nothing to hide behind.”

“Nothing to hide behind,” I repeated thoughtfully, sitting on my bed. I idly searched through my bag for sleeping clothes. Then I glanced over at Molly’s bed as she pulled off her shirt. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Molly glanced down unconcernedly, holding her shirt in one hand. Her whole pale body tensed, and then she shrugged, picking up the envelope from her pillow. “Just a letter I got the last day we were back at school.”

“Who’s it from?” Finally finding a worn t-shirt and comfortable shorts, I stood and peeled off my shirt.

“No one important.” Molly’s voice was muffled as she pulled on her oversize sleeping shirt. “And speaking of unimportant people, finish changing so that Austin can come in. He said he wouldn’t look up in the loft, but you know how boys are.”

As I slipped my shorts up to my hips, Molly strode over to the window and pulled it shut with a definitive snap. I protested. “Hey, I liked the breeze.”

“You just like to complain,” Molly said as she slid under the covers. “If you get hot, just flip on the ceiling fan.” She yawned. “Besides, no bugs can get in now.”

“There’s a great invention called window screens that takes care of that,” I muttered. We settled onto our beds.

“Are y’all decent? Can I come in?” came Austin’s voice from below us, accompanied by the creak of the front door.

I waited for Molly to answer. After a second, I glanced over at her and saw her profile in the half-dark, lit by the soft glow of the moon through the window. She held a sheet of paper in one hand—the contents of the envelope on her pillow—and from the frown on her face I guessed she didn’t like what she was reading.

“Moll?” Austin tried again.

I cleared my throat.

Molly blinked. “Yeah,” she said finally, her voice scratchy. “You can come in.”

Austin noisily prepared for bed, banging things around in the semi-darkness. The one light that illuminated the main room was on the ceiling fan, which shone into the loft as well. I cringed sympathetically as I heard his shin connect solidly with the leg of the table by the couch. His muffled curses drifted up to the ceiling, lingering against the polished wood like bats roosting in a cave.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to stop thinking about how I missed the smooth flat farmland of Pennsylvania among these rocky hills. The mysterious letter on Molly’s pillow drifted to the front of my thoughts, and I let it stay there for a few moments, floating like a leaf on the surface of a pond until I felt the slow heavy tides of sleep catch hold of my mind.

Chapter 2

In the night I dreamed that there was a tapping at the window. I sat up, holding the quilt to my chest and squinting sleepily. The tapping came again and I slid out of bed, tiptoeing to the window. I peered out into the darkness and saw a small bluish glow hovering level with the window a few feet away, circling. In the peculiar way of dreams, I knew that the little glow wanted me to open the window. I wedged my fingers against the sill and pulled upward. The glow slipped through a tear in the window-screen. It landed on my shoulder and tugged at my hair.

“Ouch,” I said indignantly.

“You’re paying attention now,” said the little glow in a clear bright voice. I looked at it closer, and if I slanted my eyes just right, I made out the outlines of a small body encased in the glow.

“You must listen,” said the glow. The glow was male, and despite his diminutive size, his voice was somewhere in the tenor range.

“I bet you sing beautifully,” I said to the glow. He hovered right in front of my face and snapped his little fingers.

“Pay attention,” he said crossly. “Don’t make me pull your hair again.”

“Is this a dream?” I asked, puzzled by the very real tug of small strong fingers on my hair. A niggling suspicion tickled the back of my mind. It was somehow a familiar feeling, but the familiarity was distant, as if from a childhood memory. I blinked, wondering why I suddenly felt like I was home.

“Don’t you worry about that,” the glow said firmly. “All you need to worry about is getting your pig-headed friend to heed the Lady’s order.”

“Pig-headed friend?” I repeated stupidly, mind still fogged.

The glow circled the loft, pointing down at the lump under the covers that wasMolly.

“Molly?”I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The glow whizzed around my head in frustration and then landed on my shoulder again.

“You mortals are so thick-headed it hurts,” he said into my ear. “The order.”

I paused. The little creature on my shoulder made a sound of impatience. “Hush,” I said, “I’m thinking.” I took my time, waiting for a flash of clarity. Finally, I drew in a sharp breath. “The letter.”

“Naturally,” said the little glow dryly. “You know,” he said, a sly edge to his voice, “you should go look at it.”

It was disorienting, him sitting on my shoulder where I couldn’t see him when he talked, and I told him as much.

“Well, isn’t that a pity,” he said. “I’ve flown far tonight and must rest before I return—straining my wings just because some little half-blood doesn’t like the idea of heeding an order from the Lady herself!”

I took in a breath. “If this is a dream, and it’s not real, I can do whatever I want. I can look at the letter if I want.”

“Now you’re thinking,” the glow said appreciatively.

I slid out of bed…but it wasn’t like in a normal dream. Part of me slid out of bed, and I glanced back over my shoulder to see that…I was still asleep, arms tucked under me and my hair spread out in a burnished golden fan over the pillow. As I watched in fascination, the sleeping half of me frowned slightly, sighing, as if…as if I was having a strange dream.

The glow tugged at my hair. “The letter is still under her bed.”

I watched Molly as I knelt down by her bed, sliding my hand into the darkness. I froze when she rolled over, her short dark hair mussed. Then my fingers felt the edge of the envelope, softer and thicker than normal paper. I sat back on my heels and turned the envelope over in my hands. It felt so…real. I glanced over my shoulder and looked at myself, still sleeping in bed. I turned back to examining the letter, peering closely at the heavy wax seal weighing down the flap of the envelope, a stark and vivid scarlet against the creamy paper.

I felt the little being lean forward intently as I delicately slid the folded sheet from the envelope. I unfolded it, and for a moment I thought the paper was blank. I turned my head slightly toward the glow, but then, from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of beautiful script, flowing down the page, and a seal at the top, a tree in black with silver stars and a crescent moon interwoven through its branches.

“Interesting, interesting,” the glow murmured into my ear.

“Are you talking to me or to yourself?” I asked.

“Both,” he replied. “I was not told you have a touch of it…you must, to see anything at all.”

“A touch of what?” I asked in irritation.

Then Molly made a little sound of distress in her sleep. I folded the letter quickly, slipping it back into the envelope and carefully replacing it in the darkness beneath Molly’s bed. As soon as the letter settled back into place, she sighed in contentment. I stood and backed away from her bed slowly, suppressing a slight flush of guilt.

“I know you don’t know anything, but you don’t need to.Quite frankly, you’re better off. All you need to do is gently push your friend in the right direction,” the glow told me.

“And which direction is that?” I asked. I sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch my sleeping self. I held out a hand. The little light filtering through the window drifted through my translucent skin. Yet somehow my transparent hand didn’t look quite ghost-like; living warmth colored my skin, and there was a slight glow to me that I knew the dead wouldn’t possess. “What in the world is going on right now?” I said softly, mostly to myself.

The glow tugged on my hair, gentler this time. “Stop asking so many questions.”

“It’s not as though it matters anyway,” I pointed out rebelliously. “This is all a dream and you’re not real.” I didn’t believe it in the very core of myself.

The little glow laughed. “Right you are, right you are,” he said in a sing-song voice. “You’re a curious one. It’s not often that mortals slip so easily between their two halves.”

“What do you mean?” I heard the mingled curiosity and suspicion in my own voice.

“I should leave you thinking it was all a dream,” the little glow said with a conspiratorial air. “But there’s something strange about you.” He touched the curve of my ear with one tiny hand. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you have priestess blood in you, but I wasn’t sent here for you, and so I shan’t say anything at all.”

“Of course,” I said amiably. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Or I guess I should already know, since it’s my dream and all.” I thought for another minute, waiting for it to come.

“All the time in the world in dreamland,” said the glow. He hopped down onto my leg and sat on my knee cross-legged, looking gravely up at me. The longer I looked at him, the more detail I was able to see: he wore boots, and a long tunic with leggings beneath, and his face was pointed but still pretty, in a wild, boyish way. He wore a little down-feather in his hair, perched jauntily behind one ear.

“Hm,” I murmured dreamily, lying back against the headboard of the bed. I was careful not to dislodge him from my knee. He sat on my kneecap and dangled his feet in the air like a child.

“I’ll tell you my name,” he said, “if you tell me your name.”

“Tess,” I replied with a little laugh. “Tess O’Connor.”

“Tess is short for something?” the little glow said, leaning forward with interest.

“Theresa. But it’s Tess.” I jiggled my knee the slightest bit, just enough to made the glow put out a hand for balance. “Now you tell me your full name, since I told you mine.”

The little glow stood up and bowed elegantly. “Whither Willow Wisp,” he said. He tilted his head. “Although, mortal Tess, that was nothing of a fair exchange.”

I had no idea what he meant by that, so I let it pass. “Can I just call you Will? Or Wisp?” I sat up suddenly. “That’s like…Will o’ the Wisp!”

Dislodged from my knee, the little glow flew in a few pleased circles. “One and the same,” he said. “You could say it’s a family name. And if you really insist on a nickname, I’d prefer Wisp.”

I yawned.

Wisp hovered above my face and grinned impishly. ”Dream-walking will tire you greatly, if you haven’t been taught,” he said.

“Hmm,” I managed, feeling my eyes drift shut. I blinked and looked up at Wisp. “Can you come back in another dream?”

“If you tell your friend to heed the summons of the Lady,” Wisp said gravely, “I will come back again, Tess-mortal. And perhaps then I will teach you to venture farther in your dreams.”

I sighed and rolled over to my side. I felt myself settle back solidly into my body, and my mind was too hazy from tiredness to contemplate the strange, yet somehow familiar, sensation. As I drifted into sleep, I felt cool little hands tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Sleep well, Tess-mortal.”

The whispered words lingered in my mind like a benediction, spreading behind my eyes and soothing the small worm of worry writhing its way into my thoughts as I drifted into a deep sleep.

Chapter 3

I woke again while it was still dark, with an unusually quick clarity. Normally I muddled around for a few minutes after waking, rubbing my eyes and convincing myself that whatever the day held would be more rewarding than sleep. Now, I glanced at my alarm clock and found it was still early, but not too long before dawn.

I slipped out of bed and padded over to Molly. “Hey,” I whispered, shaking her shoulder. “Let’s go for a run.”

She rolled over and yawned. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get up and be a good running partner.”

Molly made a face. “Or…time for you to go back to bed.”

“If you don’t come with me, I’ll just go by myself. And then I’ll get lost and you’ll have to come find me.”

“That would be more work than it’s worth,” grumbled Molly, sitting up and stretching.

“So come running instead,” I said in a bright whisper.

“All right, all right.” Molly swung her legs out of bed and looked at me from beneath her fringe of bangs, which stuck up wildly in all directions. She narrowed her eyes at me. “What’s gotten into you this morning? Normally you’re a grouch.”

I grinned. “Maybe I just had a really good night’s sleep.”

Molly said something under her breath as she rooted around for her running shoes. I pulled on my socks and shoes, and ran down the stairs lightly, trying not to disturb Molly’s parents and Austin.

Outside, the early morning air settled crisply onto my skin. I stepped down off the porch, breathing deeply. At this hour in the springtime, the air in Pennsylvania would drape over me like a transparent robe, laden with the scent of cool dew and wet grass, laced with the sound of trees shuddering softly before the dawn. Morning runs at home were exercises in counting pavement cracks, skirting carefully manicured lawns and, on long routes, breathing through the heavy clinging smell of fertilizer being spread on the rolling hills of the farms on either side of the road.

Here, though, I heard the crunch of gravel under the soles of my sneakers. The dusky outlines of the rugged hills challenged me through the half-light, promising aches in my legs but beckoning all the same. The screen door banged and Molly walked over to me, combing through her bed-head hair with three fingers.

“Since when are you a morning person?” she demanded. “You woke up without an alarm clock.”

“You’re not in a good mood, so I’m going to try not to hold what you say right now against you,” I said.

“How charitable of you,” Molly grouched under her breath.

I elbowed her lightly as I sank into a hamstring stretch. “Come on, Molls, lighten up. We’re in Texas, it’s our second day here, we don’t have to worry about school or anything else right now. How often do we get to say that?”

“Not often enough.”

“That’s right,” I said. “So let’s enjoy it while we can. No professors, no class-work, no physical training.”

“No physical training?” Molly raised a skeptical eyebrow at me. “What do you call this then?”

I widened my eyes innocently. “I call this fun.”

“Of course. How could I forget, Tess with the mile-long legs, running is so much fun.”

“Stop complaining and let’s go,” I said, tightening my ponytail with a tug. Molly dutifully fell into step beside me as I started running. “You’re lucky I wasn’t your partner in martial arts,” I commented. At our university, there were optional physical education classes that included full-contact boxing, swimming and martial arts. Most young women didn’t particularly enjoy the physicality of boxing and martial arts, but Molly and I reveled in it. It was just another one of those things that had convinced us we were too much alike not to be friends.

“We would have killed each other,” agreed Molly. “Though I heard you really didn’t take it easy on Emily Warner, if the rumors were true.”

“I’m just flattered there were rumors about me,” I said with a sly grin.

We warmed up for a few hills, the gravel crunching under my sneakers and spraying to the sides as I dug my toes in to get traction on the steep trail. When I felt the muscles in my legs loosen, I increased my pace. Molly ran just behind me, off my left shoulder—her typical position. The gray sky slowly lightened above us, blushing pink in the east and then washing the hills in pale gold light as the sun rose over the cedar-studded horizon.

I ran until the cool air burned in my lungs, until my legs felt heavy and my arms, swinging back and forth like pendulums, were only kept in motion through their momentum. At the crest of the next hill, I stopped, sweat sliding down my back and soaking the strands of my hair by my ears. The flush of sunrise brightened, bringing the wild landscape out of the suspended moments between night and day. I listened to the birds announcing the day’s arrival, their sweet shrill notes floating in the cool air like ribbons, intertwining and overlaying to create the tapestry of sound that was the Hill Country.

I took deep, measured breaths. The burn in the back of my throat faded into a dull ache, the familiar iron taste creeping into my mouth as I swallowed thickly. Looking back down the trail, I spotted Molly, her dark head down and her pale arms pumping as she gamely tackled the steep incline. When she reached the top, she grinned at me. I eyed her sweat-free forehead suspiciously.

“Why don’t you ever sweat?” I asked teasingly.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” said Molly, smiling impishly. “All I know is that I don’t have to worry about smelling disgusting after a run and that’s pretty convenient.”

I wrinkled my nose at her and then wiped my forehead on my already-damp sleeve. The sun’s rays quickly warmed the cool morning air. We turned so that the light fell on our faces, and I felt the warmth sliding over my cheekbones. “So,” I said.

“Yeah?” Molly sat down cross-legged, lifted her face to the sun and leaned back on her hands, closing her eyes.

I sat down next to her, brushing the dirt from my palms. “I had a strange dream last night.” Even as I said the words an effervescent suspicion bubbled in the back of my mind, pushing against my thoughts as I tried to gather them into something resembling coherence.

“Hmm. What kind of dream?”

In the bright light of the morning sun, speaking about a little glow that came through a tear in the window-screen seemed slightly ridiculous. More than slightly. It seemed absurd—as absurd as peeling out of myself, stretching my soul out of my body. But I had said it was a dream, so I took a breath and forged on. “I dreamed about you, actually. Or something to do with you.” I glanced at Molly. The corners of her lips turned upward in a small smile.

“Something to do with me?” Molly’s voice lowered, sun-sleepy.

“Yes. It was kind of strange, because I’ve never really dreamed something so…vividly…before.” And that wasn’t entirely true either, evidenced by a firm feeling that I had, in fact, dreamed like that before, and I’d gone farther even than dreaming. Wisp’s words rose unbidden in my mind: I will come back again, Tess-mortal. And perhaps then I will teach you to venture farther in your dreams again. I shook my head a little to clear it, looking out over the gold-washed trees and rocks.

“Well, come on then. Please tell me it didn’t involve Austin at all.” Molly opened her eyes and gave me a pleading look. “If it is, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“I told you,” I said, “it was about you.” I picked up a rock from the trail, hefting it in my palm before tossing it down the slope, watching it tumble end over end before hurtling into a thorny patch of low bushes. “I dreamed that…there was this visitor, and he told me that he had a message for you.”

“And what would that message be?” As Molly spoke, her head tilted to one side, the pleasant warmth of the sun lulling her into calm.

I shifted uneasily. “He said to heed the letter from the Lady.” I tensed as Molly opened her eyes and looked at me. I jumped a little as she burst into laughter.

“Look at you, getting all worked up over a dream,” she said, poking me with one finger. “You made me think it was going to be something horrible, like you dreamt I murdered you or something like that!”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say, and then the words just spurted out of my mouth, shooting up my spine and across my tongue before I could close my teeth on them. “It wasn’t a dream. I saw the letter.”

Molly sat up, slowly straightening her back. She laid her hands on her knees very precisely, and turned to look at me with an odd light in her green-gold eyes. “What did you say?” Her words were calm, precise, a smooth counterpoint to the feverish glint in her gaze.

I took a breath and looked out over the rugged vista for a moment before replying, thinking my words through. “I saw you reading that letter, last night. I know…I know something in it upset you.”

“It’s none of your business,” Molly said in a cold voice that I had never heard before. The light in her eyes flared. “You had no right to look at that letter.”

“I didn’t actually read it,” I clarified defensively.

“You would have, if you’d had time,” she said. “I knew you looked at it. It was folded differently.” Her mouth thinned into an angry line. “You were in a hurry when you put it back into the envelope.”

“You’re my best friend,” I said. “We look out for each other. We have to look out for each other.” I felt an aching pull just below my breastbone at the look of betrayal on Molly’s face. “That’s why I tried to read the letter,” I continued, hating the thin thread of desperation in my voice. I wanted her to understand. I needed her to understand.

Molly shook her head and tucked her dark hair behind both ears, both sides at once. “So, Tess, this…dream.”

It was my turn to look away. The tone of Molly’s voice told me that she more than suspected something strange. The silence stretched taut between us, warmed by the morning sun. I pinched some dirt between my fingers, rubbing the grit against my skin as though that would scrub away the uneasiness hovering in my mind. I waited for Molly to continue—I’d already intruded on her enough, it seemed, for a while, with my attempt at reading the mysterious letter under her bed.

“What exactly did you dream?”

“You want to know all the details?” I glanced at her in mild surprise.

“Every last one.”

I breathed out slowly, picking one of the sparse blades of grass that had struggled through the loose dirt and stones of the trail. “Well. I woke up—in my dream,” I clarified. “I woke up in my dream and there was this little glow outside the window. He wanted me to let him in.” I paused, expecting Molly to ask a question, but she sat with her hands on her knees and said nothing. “So I opened the window. He flew in through a tear in the screen. Then he pulled my hair to get my attention, and sat on my shoulder while he talked to me. He said that I had to tell you to heed the summons, and something about a lady.”

“The Lady,” Molly murmured. The inflection in her voice reminded me of Wisp’s tone when he had uttered those words…in my dream.

“He said he would come back,” I said softly, “if I told you to heed the Lady’s summons.”

Molly looked at me sharply. “Did you tell him your name?”

“Yes. Well, not all of it. Not my middle name or saint’s name,” I answered truthfully. As a dutiful Catholic, I had chosen a saint to be named after at my Confirmation.

“At least you have a little protection then,” she said.

“He told me his name,” I offered. “Whither Wi—“

“Stop,” Molly hissed, covering my mouth with her hand in a sudden blur of movement. “Their names have power, Tess! It sets off alarm bells in their head and most of the time they’re compelled to come to where you are!”

When Molly took her hand from my mouth, I stared at her wide-eyed, at a loss for words. “What?” I finally croaked in a hoarse voice. “I don’t…understand, Molly….it was a dream…” But even as I said this I remembered tiny cool hands slipping past my ear, tucking my hair back as I fell asleep, looking back at my sleeping body as I stood in the middle of the loft.

“There are more things on heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your sciences,” said Molly as she lay back onto the trail, heedless of the stones and the dirt.

I ignored the fact that she had misquoted Hamlet. “The letter,” I said. “Tell me.”

Her eyes narrowed, Molly shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand as she turned her head toward me. “Why?”

“Because,” I said, taking a deep breath and gathering my thoughts again. “Because I’m your best friend and they must have known they could get to you through me. That’s why Wisp came to me last night.” My head spun a little dizzily.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” Molly said quietly, looking back up into the blue of the morning sky.

I swallowed. “I don’t care. Tell me.” I reached over and touched Molly’s shoulder. I remembered the balmy summer night sitting under the spreading oak, shadows woven like blankets over our legs and Molly’s secret lighting her up like a lantern. “You’ve been there for me for the past three years. You were there when Liam deployed and I was a wreck…you brought two pints of ice cream to my room and we watched West Side Story three times in a row.”

A small smile creased Molly’s face. “I remember,” she said, still in that soft voice.

I waited, stretching my legs.

“I’ve known I was different,” Molly said, “since I was twelve. Well, before then I knew, but I didn’t understand why all of the other kids’ imaginary friends had suddenly gone away—mine were still there. Trillow and Glira. Glows, like Wisp I think.” Molly’s voice turned dreamy. “Trillow was this lovely little thing, with a glow the color of the sunrise, and Glira was like a tiny star sown into a pocket of night. She didn’t really glow, she shimmered.”

“What happened?” I said, almost whispering.

“My teacher referred me to the school psychologist when I kept writing stories about Trillow and Glira. I insisted that they were real. In the end, the only way the psychologist would let me go without a letter to my mother was when I admitted they didn’t exist.” Molly’s shoulders tensed. “They left before I got home from school that day. I never got to say goodbye to them. I thought I killed them, for a long while, until Glira found me at school this past December. She nearly froze her wings off.” She sat up and brushed the dust out of the back of her short hair, slipping a sidelong glance at me. “I won’t think you’re crazy if you don’t think I’m crazy.”

I crossed my heart with one finger. “Promise.”

“People have always asked whether I’m adopted.” Molly shrugged. “Turns out I am. In a sense.”

I blinked a few times, trying to process the information.

“I’m adopted. But,” she said, holding a hand up, “I’m still family. Apparently my mom and dad are really my aunt and uncle.”

“All this was in the letter?” I asked, aghast at finding out something so earth-shattering in an anonymous letter.

“No.” She shook her head, dark hair shimmering in the bright sunlight. “I found out last Christmas. Glira told me.”

“Your…glow friend.”

“Yes. Well, she hinted at it, and then she told me where to find some pictures in a shoebox in the closet. When I showed the pictures to my mom, it was…hard.” Molly shuddered even in the bright sunlight. “They were pictures of me when I was a baby. And I’m with this woman who looks like my mom, but different. Darker hair, paler skin.” Molly brushed her own pale skin, her own dark hair. “On the back of the pictures it always said ‘Annalise and Molly.’ So I knew it was me.” She took a breath. “Mom’s younger sister was named Annalise.”

“Why would it be so strange for your mom to have pictures of you and her sister?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Because Annalise has been dead for twenty years, and when I showed the pictures to my mom, she pretended like she didn’t remember, like she’d never seen Annalise before. It took me ten minutes to convince her that I knew it was her sister in the photo.”

“But she told you about Annalise, didn’t she?” I said.

“No,” Molly said, “that was my grandmother. My mom never talked about Annalise, and I figured it was because she just couldn’t. Too sad, I guessed.”

“What did your grandmother tell you?” I prompted.

“She told me that I was Annalise’s daughter, that none of the rest of the family knew except for my dad, because Annalise didn’t know who the father was and she died in childbirth. Annalise hadn’t been speaking to my grandmother for a few years when I was born.”

“You seem so calm about all of this,” I said in wonder. I didn’t know what I’d do if I found out I was adopted, but Liam and I looked so much alike that sometimes we were asked if we were twins.

Molly stood and offered me a hand, pulling me up from the trail. She stood looking out over the thickets of brambles and the pale dirt, listening to the intermittent sounds of birds chirping and other small animals rustling about in the bushes and trees. “What other choice do I have?” she said. “And that’s not all, Tess. When I came back from a run one day, I saw her putting the shoebox into the fireplace. She burned all the pictures.” Molly’s face twisted with bitterness. “She burned the only piece of my real mother that I’d ever had. And when I asked her about it, she just acted like she’d never done it.”

I found myself blinking again, as if that could get my mind to work faster. “I really don’t know what to say.” I couldn’t reconcile the memory of Mrs. Jackson standing in front of the mirror at the cabin, wiggling the mascara onto her lashes with concentration, with the idea of burning pictures, flames erasing faces that had once been loved.

We began walking down the hill, retracing our running route.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Molly reassured me. “You know, you’re the only other person that I’ve told. I can’t tell Austin, and my mom and dad pretend like they have no memory of it…like if they wish I’m their real daughter hard enough, all of this will go away.” She grinned, a feral glint to her teeth and hardness in her spark-lit eyes.

“So…how does this mysterious letter fit in?” I asked. “When I opened it, I thought for a minute it was blank. And then the writing showed up.”

Molly laughed. “You must have some Fae blood way back in your family tree, Tess.”

“Fae,” I said, more to test the word out than anything else. “Why do you say that?”

“Because anything that’s Fae-written only reveals itself to those with Fae blood.”

“Maybe it thought I was you.”

Molly shrugged. “Maybe.”

I thought for a moment, scuffing my sneaker against the gravel as we walked up the next hill. “That means you have Fae blood, then?”

Molly shrugged again. “Probably. I don’t know for sure, though. Trillow and Glira just taught me a lot about the Fae, when I was little and we would play games out in the trees. It all came rushing back when Trillow found me at school. I thought I’d forgotten it all when I decided they weren’t real.”

“So tell me what the letter said,” I prodded again.

“Wisp already told you. It was an order.”

“An order from whom?”

Molly sighed in exasperation. “If you’d just let me talk, I’ll explain, and then you won’t have to ask so many questions. It was a summons to the Unseelie Court, a writ signed by the Queen of the Court. I don’t know what they want with me, but they set a deadline.”

“And when is that?”

“Tonight.”

I raised my eyebrows. “They aren’t messing around, these faeries.”

“No. Apparently not. I think they tried to get Glira to carry a message, but she lost it.”

We crested another hill and the path wound its way through copse of trees. Their dry leaves rattled slightly in the breeze, a sound that somehow seemed foreboding to me.

“So the Fae of the Court are different than Wisp and Trillow?” I asked, curious now after having gotten over the initial shock of the whole idea.

“Yes. They’re all Fae, but the Court Fae prefer to be called the Sidhe. That’s the polite name, anyway. And of the Sidhe, there’s the Seelie Court and the Unseelie Court. As far as Trillow would tell me, the Seelie Court love the day, and the Unseelie Court prefer the night. That’s all I could really get out of her. She likes the Seelie a bit more, I think, because they give her shiny things when she runs errands for them. Glira, though, is more of an Unseelie sympathizer.”

“Sympathizer,” I repeated.

“I’ll let Wisp or Trillow try and explain it,” Molly said. “I don’t understand it all myself.”

“You’ve had ten years to think about all this,” I pointed out. “If you don’t understand it after all that time, how am I supposed to understand it before tonight?”

Molly stopped. “What about tonight?”

I stood up tall, using my height to what advantage I could as I looked down at my best friend. “Well, I’m coming with you.” I tried to sound firm.

“Coming with me where?”

“To the Unseelie Court. Or wherever it is you’re going.”

“I hadn’t thought of actually going.”

I frowned, taken aback. “Why not?”

She turned to face me and crossed her arms. “Because the Sidhe are not the cute little fairies you see in children’s books, Tess. They aren’t pretty little glows like Trillow and Glira and Wisp. They’re the dangerous ones. They don’t follow the rules of our world and they don’t particularly care when mortals get hurt.”

“Do you really have a choice?” I asked.

Molly looked out over the dusty hills, her eyes distant. “Probably not.”

“So then why are they bothering with you? Why do they think you’re so important?”

“And why are you asking so many goddamn questions?” Molly turned her gaze to me, her eyes hot as coals. “I’m trying to navigate this mess, and I was working it out just fine on my own, until you stuck your nose into the letter. Now they know about you, Tess, and I have to worry about you, too.” She pointed a finger at my chest. “You think this is all well and good, a fun little diversion from school and thinking about Liam dying in Afghanistan.”

I gasped a little, feeling as though she had punched me.

“But it’s not, Tess. It’s not a game. I’m not the heroine and I don’t need a sidekick. I told you the story, so just leave it alone.” Her cat-like eyes radiating anger, she turned and stomped her way down the hill, leaving me breathless at the top.

A moment hung suspended, balancing on the wave of shock enveloping me. Then anger flared in my chest, as warm as the fire that Molly’s family had built in the fire-ring on the hilltop. “You don’t get to decide!” I shouted after Molly. “Damn it, I’m your best friend. You don’t get to push that away!”

I saw Molly pause at the bottom of the hill. Her hands went still by her sides. Then she took one step forward, and another, slowly walking away from me. I ran down the hill, slipping on a stone and falling hard. But I scrambled up and slid down the rest of the way, ignoring the burning pain in my palms and knees. “Molly!” I grabbed her arm and she went still.

“Please,” I said. “You would do the same for me.” I breathed heavily, from both the run down the hill and the sudden shock of emotion vibrating up and down my spine, through my smarting knees and palms. I wanted so badly for Molly to look at me. “Don’t you understand?” I said finally, after a few breaths. “I’m the closest thing you have to a sister, and you need all the family you can get right now.”

She looked down at my legs. “You’re bleeding,” she said softly. Then she sighed, her shoulders softening. “Come on, we need to get back to the house and fix you up.”

Ignoring the warm blood sliding down my shin, I matched Molly’s slow, thoughtful pace, breathing in the warm air and savoring the clean scent, free of car fumes.

“I would do the same for you,” Molly said finally in her normal voice, glancing at me, “but I would’ve tried to commit you to a mental institution first, if someone told me the story I just told you.”

I snorted. “Yeah. You’re right. You’re just lucky that I trust you.” I tilted my head, considering.

Molly smiled her bright smile that so often ended our disagreements. The radiance of her smile turned sour feelings into mere memories. I scowled at her.

“Don’t you go pulling the smile on me,” I told her, mock-chastising. “It may work with all the boys, but it will not work on me. I am immune.”

“You are not,” Molly said. “You’re in a better mood already.”

“Only because I was in the better mood to begin with.”

“Details, details.” Molly waved one hand dismissively. “My smile has very little effect on boys, and even if it did, I wouldn’t be interested.”

I grimaced. Relationships were a sore subject for me right now. It seemed like I careened through the dating world with all the grace that I possessed in daily life, except I bashed into boys instead of tables, tripping over my words instead of down stairs. “Let’s not talk about this right now.”

Molly glanced at my face and took in my dour expression. “Tess,” she said softly, “just because you haven’t found someone that fits you yet, doesn’t mean you won’t ever find him.”

I clenched my teeth a little, biting down on a sarcastic response. “I know.”

“You’re tall, blonde and ridiculously smart…chemistry major and all.” Molly raised her eyebrows mischievously. “There are plenty of boys who would very much like to see what kind of chemical reaction they could—”

I swatted at her arm. “Molly. That’s not what I’m interested in anyway.”

Molly smiled. “I know. I’m just teasing you. You’re funny when you’re angry.”

“It’s not like you’ve had great success in the dating world either,” I said, unable to keep myself from unleashing my counter-blow. But Molly just smiled her mysterious smile, eyes glinting.

We walked a little farther. A brown and white streak suddenly appeared over the crest of the next hill, resolving itself into Kirby, who ran toward us at full tilt with his ears flapping and tongue lolling. Molly kept walking unconcernedly. I faltered a little when Kirby kept his pace, barreling straight at me. He swerved right at the last second, whipping his head around and sticking his cold nose into the back of my knees. I squeaked in surprise and hopped a few steps forward. Kirby barked, tail wagging, plainly delighted that he had startled me. He trotted next to me, occasionally bounding off the side of the road into the brush to investigate the rustlings of some small creature or another.

Finally, the trail began to look familiar to me. Kirby raced ahead, barking to announce our arrival. Mrs. Jackson walked out onto the front porch, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, her graying hair pulled back in a ponytail. I looked at her face and tried to imagine the woman who would burn photographs of her own sister. Her blue eyes swept over us, sharpening in concern when she saw the blood on my knees and the scrape on one palm.

“Now, Molly,” she said, “what did I tell you about making sure that Tess knew her way around the trails before y’all went running?”

“She knew her way around the trails, Mother,” Molly replied levelly as we walked up the steps to the porch.

“I just don’t know my way around my own two feet,” I added, smiling sheepishly.

Mrs. Jackson made sounds like an unhappy mother hen, placing me in one of the rocking chairs on the porch while she went to find antiseptic cream and bandages. Molly stared after her mother—no, her aunt, really—with hard eyes.

“You’re not happy here, now that you know all this,” I said softly, after the door swung shut. I glanced at the kitchen window to make sure it wasn’t open. “Why not go?”

Molly blinked, and sighed, leaning against the porch railing. “I just feel…like I don’t know anything anymore. But as little of the truth as I know here, at least I know more than I would in the world of the Fae.” She shivered, looking at me earnestly. “They kill mortals sometimes,” she said softly.

I considered. What would Liam do, if he was foraying into a new world full of dangerous new beings, about whom he knew next to nothing? He would arm himself with what knowledge he did have, I decided. “We’ll ask Trillow and Glira and Wisp,” I said. “We’ll ask them how to hurt the Sidhe, and if there’s anything we can do to protect ourselves when we go.”

Molly nodded, eyes far-away in thought. Then she suddenly smiled, looking up at me. “I can’t believe you’re actually talking me into doing this.”

“I can’t believe you’ve actually been given an order by the Queen of the Unseelie Court,” I countered dryly. “And I am not talking you into this. You know you’ll go. I’m just coming with you, and trying to be smart about it.”

Molly snorted a little, laughing. “Trying to be smart about walking into a Sidhe death-trap. Listen to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ll thank me later.”

Chapter 4

Mrs. Jackson opened the door with her elbow, hands full of antiseptic cream and boxes of adhesive bandages. Molly watched her struggle with the screen door coolly, looking away and pretending to observe Kirby digging in the yard when Mrs. Jackson finally made it out onto the porch.

“Here, dear,” she said to me, offering a length of paper towel. I took it and wiped at my knees, dabbing away the crimson and trying to get all the little gritty stones out of the scrape. After scrubbing at the torn skin for a while, ignoring the stinging pain, I put down the towel and took a tube of antiseptic ointment from Mrs. Jackson. She hovered as I spread a liberal amount of the cloudy ointment on both knees. I peeled away the backing on the largest adhesive bandage I could find, slapping it over one knee with practiced ease. After repeating the process on the other knee and putting a smaller bandage on my left palm, I offered the boxes and tube of ointment back to Mrs. Jackson. She deferred.

“You can keep them, honey,” she said, “in case you need them again.”

I smiled and put the boxes down by the rocking chair. Kirby barked as he spotted a jackrabbit, rocketing off into the brush.

I ate breakfast quickly, slopping some cold milk onto cereal and wolfing it down with single-minded determination. Molly watched me with hooded eyes, pouring a precise amount of cereal into her bowl, her movements measured and cat-like. I showered quickly in the little bathroom, changing into clean shorts and a t-shirt. Molly deferred a shower, saying she was fine with simply changing shirts. I groused at her again about her suspicious lack of sweat glands. When Mr. Jackson asked where we were going, Molly told him that we were going hiking, and then maybe to White River for some kayaking later on in the day. She packed a backpack with a few water-bottles, trail mix and cold-cut sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil. She leapt up the stairs to the loft and added some things to the front pocket of the backpack. I added a tube of sunscreen after squeezing some out into my palm.

“You’re going to get burnt,” I warned Molly as she wrinkled her nose at my offer of sun protection.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.”

We made it out the front door and halfway down the hill before Austin spotted us.

“Where are y’all going?” he asked, stepping away from the pick-up, which had its hood propped open. His hands were dark with engine grease.

“Girls-only hike,” Molly replied firmly. “So unless you’ve got a big secret, that means you can’t come.”

I paused and looked back at Austin. He winked at me cheekily before replying to his older sister.

“If I were a girl, Molls, you would have to pry the boys off me,” he said teasingly.

“Yeah,” Molly said, “you would be a slut.”

“Ouch,” Austin said, putting his hand over…well, below his belt. “That was a low blow.”

“You started it.”

“Whatever.” Austin grinned. “Don’t get lost on the chick-only hike, Tess. Then I’d have to come find you.”

I felt my cheeks heat even as I rolled my eyes, upholding Molly’s obligatory older-sister scorn. “You wish, Austin.” We started walking down the hill again.

“You’re right,” Austin said devilishly from behind us. “I do!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at his brazen audacity. Molly smiled a little too.

“Brothers,” I said under my breath, shaking my head.

“He’s my cousin,” Molly corrected darkly, and just like that, the playful mood dissipated, evaporating into the dry hot air. I opened my mouth, but then found that none of the words in my head fit the mood, so I licked my lips and said nothing. We walked in silence for a while, the blazing Texas sun pounding our short shadows into the trail.

As we came to a fork in the trail, Molly shifted the backpack on her shoulders. She took the left fork, with me following a half-step behind.

“Where are we going?” I ventured finally.

“To someplace that’s dark enough for Glira in the daytime,” said Molly.

Another question itched on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed and tried to think it through myself instead. It irked me that I was as ignorant as a toddler when it came to the Fae, and even though she knew only a little more than me, Molly seemed to know all the answers as she trudged up the incline of the trail.

We stopped after an hour. Molly handed me some trail mix and a water bottle. I slathered more sunscreen onto my face and stretched my legs, trying to massage the soreness from the morning’s run out of my hamstrings. I stood and idly walked around the edges of the trail as I finished the last of the water, kicking at a large rock and watching as a little lizard scurried away from the disturbance.

“The faeries’ names, they have power,” I said to the air, letting the words hang from my lips in slow contemplation as I thought.

Molly lounged in a pool of shadow, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. “Yes.”

“Let me call Wisp, then.” I turned to face Molly. “He’s the one who brought the message. He should know more than your Trillow or Glira.”

“First of all,” she replied, that foreign glint in her eye again, “they’re not my Trillow and Glira. Second of all, I doubt Wisp even told you his real name. They don’t give their names easily.”

“Oh really?” I stood and looked down at Molly. “We can see about that then.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Molly said just as I opened my mouth. An unworldly light played in her hair, like fireflies or sparks from the fire. A herd of goose-bumps stampeded over my skin, raising the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck. I took an involuntary step backward. Molly stood, rising with a boneless grace that I realized had always been glimmering just beneath the surface in her movements. “If you say his name wrong, or call him with the wrong intentions, or don’t have a morsel for him…any of a hundred different things, Tess…he wouldn’t be very happy.”

“Wisp? Unhappy?” I snorted. “What would he do, pull my hair again?”

Molly shook her head, unmoved by my flippancy. “If you’re going to come along, you have to take this seriously. Otherwise you’ll get hurt.”

I took a deep breath even as I recalled the feel of Wisp’s cool little hands as he tucked my hair tenderly behind my ear. “Fine.”

“Let’s go then,” Molly said. She didn’t wait for me to reply, shouldering the backpack and stepping lightly on up the trail.

At the top of the hill, the land rounded down into a gentle valley, then up again into another hill, creating a bowl-like indentation. Trees surrounded the bowl, firs and cedars and oaks, with a few scattered pale-skinned birches, growing so close together that their branches intertwined, forming a crown on the top of the hill.

“Trillow and Glira showed me this, back when we bought the land,” Molly said softly. “We’ve owned this part of the Hill Country for almost fifteen years now.” A small smile softened her face. “You know, I remember when there were no roads, no cabin, and it was all wild. All tangled cedar and pale rock on the hills. Dad used to make fun of me because I loved it that way. I cried when they brought in the backhoes to make the roads and dig the hole for the cabin.” She set the backpack down next to a large, well-worn rock. I glanced about and saw that several large rocks formed a kind of semi-circle in the shade of the largest stand of trees.

“It’s a meeting-place,” I said, taking a seat on the rock next to Molly.

“I don’t know what they call it in their language. Trillow and Glira gave up trying to teach me a long time ago,” Molly said with a little laugh, “but I call it Crownhill.”

I leaned back on the rock. The branches of the tallest trees stretched into a complete dome over the little depression, their interwoven branches forming a forest cathedral over our heads. The afternoon sun shone through the latticework of leaves, dappling patterns of light and shadow onto the copse’s floor. “All right then,” I said. “Let’s call some faeries.”

Molly reached into the front compartment of the backpack and drew out a handful of Hershey’s Kisses, the foil glinting even in the shade. “Faeries, especially the smallest trooping faeries, love chocolate,” she explained. “And the foil is a bonus…Trillow especially likes the silver.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Well. I can’t say that I expected to hear that faeries are chocoholics.”

“You always have to give them a little something when you ask information. With them, it’s all about fair trade. If it’s something big you’re asking, you’d better be willing to give something valuable in return.”

I thought back to the fairy-tales I’d read as a child…not the cute ones, but the actual gritty stories in the original Brothers Grimm. “Like your voice. Or your soul.”

Molly looked at me in slight surprise and then nodded. “Don’t ever agree to that.”

“Oh,” I said dryly, “that puts a wrinkle in my plans to sell my soul to the first faery that offers.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Can we please get back to business?”

I shrugged. “It’s your show. I’m just tagging along for the ride. And to kick some faery ass, if you need me to.”

“Well just listen to you,” Molly said, arranging a few small stones in a circle. She put a chocolate inside the circle and set one little rock off to the side.

“It’s a faery-trap,” I said, leaning forward in fascination. “How does that work?”

Molly shrugged. “I don’t know. But it does. Glira and Trillow will step into the circle willingly, of course, but it still doesn’t hurt. Faeries are unpredictable.” She put her hand over her mouth and said something in a low voice. After she finished, she looked at me. “If a faery does give you their full name, don’t say it out loud so others can hear it. That makes them very irritated.”

I nodded. “Duly noted.”

We spent a few moments waiting. I scanned the treetops and wondered why exactly I was being so stubborn about coming along with Molly on her excursion into the unknown. Most people would call her crazy if she told them the story she’d told me, with her glow-friends and the Sidhe and her unknown parentage. And it wasn’t only my friendship with Molly that compelled me. I looked up at the curve of the trees above us. Maybe I wanted to be a part of this so badly because it would be an adventure. Maybe I did just want an escape from everyday life. I shifted on the rock. But no one would fault me for that…would they? Was it really just selfishness that was prodding me to go along with Molly to the Court of the Sidhe?

Before I could properly answer my own question, the leaves rustled in a sudden breeze. I sat up a little straighter, determined to note every detail of this encounter with the faeries, unlike the sleepy meeting of the night before.

Faster than thought, a shifting light darted toward us, slowing and hovering in front of Molly’s face. The little orb, much brighter than Wisp, radiated soft lovely colors, deep violet and pink and blue, reminiscent of the last stains of the sunset as night darkens the sky. Molly’s expression, lit by the glow’s luminosity, hinted at that otherworldly spark I had seen playing in her dark hair moments before.

“Hello, hello, lovely Glira,” she said softly in a singsong voice, holding out a finger. “I thank you for coming.” The little glow settled lightly on the offered perch, replying in a lilting musical voice.

“My pleasure to heed your call,” Glira said. I squinted a little, trying to see her in her pocket of glow, but all I could catch was a quick impression of a heart-shaped face and flowing white-gold hair. I couldn’t tell whether Glira was wearing any clothes at all. Perhaps Wisp was just an oddity among his kind. Did the Sidhe wear clothes? I wondered suddenly, suppressing the urge to ask. Unbidden, the image of a room full of naked people with incandescent wings filled my mind. I swallowed a hiccup of laughter, but too late: Glira turned toward me, her light pulsing in—what? Interest? Irritation?

“You did not tell me you were not alone,” Glira said to Molly, her lovely voice just this side of annoyed.

“I apologize, Glira, but I was about to introduce you,” Molly said in the tone of a forbearing long-time friend.

“Very well. Make the introductions,” Glira said imperiously. If I had been able to see her I would have bet that her arms were crossed and her little chin tilted up in an expression of utter superiority.

“Tess, this is Glira. Glira, this is Tess, my best friend from school,” Molly said, bringing her finger a little closer to me. “Hold out your hand, palm out,” she said in an undertone.

I obediently held out my palm and felt Glira press her hand to my skin. Her small hand fit perfectly in the curved center of my palm, and it felt very warm in contrast to my memory of Wisp. “Pleased to meet you,” I said as politely as I could.

“We’ll see whether you will be so pleased in a night’s time,” Glira said. She turned toward Molly again, flitting off her finger to hover in front of her face again. “I would have thought that Trillow and I raised you better than this! All that time in the mortal world with the cold metal and this is how you thank us?” Extensions of glow that I thought might be her wings fluttered furiously. “Ignoring a message from the Lady of the Dark Court! I would have never thought you to be the type!”

“Glira,” Molly said soothingly, “I read the message, I didn’t ignore it.”

“You are testing the patience of the Sidhe!” Glira circled once about Molly’s head, her melodious voice conveying a surprising amount of force.

“Calm down,” Molly tried again. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you know anything about why they want to talk to me?”

Glira laughed. The sound sent a shiver down my spine.

“It is not my place to guess why the Dark Lady would want to talk to you,” she said.

“You don’t mean to say that you don’t know anything at all,” I said, unable to help myself.

Glira cleared her throat. “Molly, please tell me again why you have allowed this mortal to accompany you thus far.”

Molly sighed. “Glira, she read the letter. Or…she saw it. And another trooping faery by the name of Wisp came to her last night to urge me to accept the summons in the Lady’s message.”

“Well and right he should urge you to accept the Lady’s word!” Glira rustled her wings again. “If he is the one I think you mean, this Wisp you speak of has good judgment, of all the messengers for the Dark Court that I have met.”

“You were once a messenger,” Molly reminded Glira gently.

“And I probably shall be again, once they forgive me for losing the first message to you,” Glira said. “But the Sidhe have long memories, and it will probably be beyond your lifetime before they let go their grievance.”

“You never told me exactly why you lost it,” Molly said. She glanced at me quickly, a cautionary arch to her eyebrow. I nodded slightly to show that I understood—she was prying gently into the root of this whole mess, or trying to at any rate.

Glira hovered. “You are right. You probably think I’m like Trillow, a silly little flit who can’t remember her own name in the noon-time sun.”

I gathered that was a type of insult in the faery world.

“But,” she continued, “I was told not to tell you what befell me, or I would have.”

“Go on,” Molly prompted, resting her chin in her hand.

“I was given the message by one of the Dark Queen’s knights.”

“They have knights?” I asked, a spark of interest flaring in my mind.

“It is more a title of courtesy than anything else,” Glira said, explaining a little grudgingly but now seeming to accept my presence. “There has been no need for the actual services of the knights for many years now, but that is all about to change.”

Molly leaned forward a little farther. “Why? What’s changed?”

“I do not know whether I should tell you this,” Glira said.

“If you don’t tell us, I’ll just call Wisp,” I told the glow, looking unconcerned as she whizzed by close to my face. A fresh scent like the open night sky lingered in her wake.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, quivering as she hovered in front of my face. She flew back to Molly. “Not only do you bring another mortal when you call me, you bring an impudent one!”

Molly smiled a little. “What can I say, Glira. Tess has always had a mind of her own. You know,” she continued with that sly glance at me again, “I should just let Tess call Wisp. He can probably tell us more than you can anyway. Or at least he’d tell it to us faster.”

Glira pirouetted in midair, transforming into a whirling gleam of light. She stopped and pulsed in thought, bending forward to point a delicate little finger at Molly’s nose. “In all the years I have known you, the lesson you have learned best is how to persuade faeries to do your bidding.” She actually sounded pleased. “That will stand you in good stead at the Court, although I can tell you that the Sidhe are not nearly so susceptible to flattery as I am.”

“And I am sure the Sidhe will also not be quite as beautiful as you are,” Molly replied without skipping a beat, only a slight smile betraying her amusement.

Glira fluttered her wings. “Enough. I will tell you all.” She circled and hovered around the circle of small stones, clearly interested in the chocolate placed in the middle. “And when I tell you, I expect that I will be….rewarded.”

“After you tell, not before,” said Molly gently but firmly. She said in a quiet aside to me, “Glira can’t take the chocolate until she holds up her part of the agreement, once she’s inside the circle.”

“Very well,” Glira said, unperturbed by Molly’s conditions. She alighted gracefully in the stone circle, perching on one of the border-stones as Molly carefully completed the pattern.

Molly sat down on the ground, leaning back against the rock she had used as a seat. I followed suit, folding my legs Indian-style, ready to hear more about this situation in the faery-world, or whatever it was that they called it.

“We’re listening,” Molly said.

“Very well,” Glira said again. Her voice changed, taking on a lower, more authoritative tone as she began her story. “Our time is not reckoned as your time, so I do not know exactly when the story begins. But suffice it to say it was probably around the time that you were born, Molly. The story of your birth and your lineage is not mine to tell. I will leave that to the Knight of the Dark Court that will be coming to collect you tonight.”

Molly saw me furrowing my eyebrows and shook her head, warning me not to interrupt.

“The Lady of the Dark Court sent me to watch over you, and the Queen of the Bright Court sent Trillow. After all is said and done, Trillow and I have no quarrel with one another. We are not beholden to either Court except when we choose to put ourselves in their service. One just has to find the right fee, and a trooping faery will be glad to perform most tasks.” Glira glanced significantly at the foil-wrapped chocolate. “Obviously the fee for watching over you, my dear Molly, was most extravagant. But after those first years, after the summer in these hills, I would have watched over you for nothing.”

The fondness in Glira’s voice made me smile. Perhaps these faeries wouldn’t be so hard to deal with after all—they seemed to possess the same kinds of emotions and attachment as we mere mortals.

“But when you were on the brink of womanhood, we were called back by the Courts. Trillow, especially, was most distressed, since it was the Court to which she was beholden that had experienced the upheaval.”

“I thought I had killed you both somehow, or that you were angry at me for telling the school psychiatrist that you didn’t exist,” Molly said softly in a voice barely above a whisper.

“No, my dear. We allowed you to think that we were angry. We chose the day of our leaving very carefully. It was a necessary precaution. The Courts were in upheaval.” Glira flew a little around the ring of stones in agitation. “Suffice it to say that I know very little about the cause of the strife. That story, too, belongs to the Sidhe.” She stopped in the center of the ring again. “All that I can tell you for certain is that there is such tension between the Courts, between the Dark Lady and the Bright Queen. Even the trooping faeries, we have started to feel it, this war that is coming.”

“War?” Molly breathed.

Glira’s glow dampened a little. “Yes. That is what it is going to come to. There has always been some amount of conflict between the two Courts, but in past years it has been settled in genteel manners as the numbers of the Sidhe have dwindled. But this war is not between the Courts.”

“Why are there less Sidhe now than in the past?” Molly asked.

Glira looked at me. “You should ask Tess. I can feel the power of her thoughts as I speak, and I am sorry I was ill-mannered toward her. She will be a great ally for you in the Courts.”

Molly smiled and looked at me with that same forbearing expression she had used when talking Glira into telling her story. “So, Tess, why have the numbers of the Sidhe dwindled?”

I took a breath, ignoring the sting of her condescension. “If I’ve heard Glira correctly,” I said, giving a little nod of courtesy to the glow, “she made it sound as if staying in the mortal world hurts faeries, or weakens them. ‘All those years in the mortal world with the cold metal,’ is what she said. So if man-made things hurt faeries, then it would stand to reason that as we expand and industrialize, it would affect the population of the Sidhe, if they’re affected just as the trooping faeries are.”

I looked to Glira for validation of my statement. She flew a lap around the stone circle and spiraled upwards in pleasure.

“Very good,” she said. “If only you were so quick to think, Molly.”

“I can…I mean, I’ve always been able to solve puzzles,” I said. “It’s easy for me to hold all the pieces together in my head and see what fits.”

Molly nudged me with her elbow. “Well, at least I know you’ll be good for something,” she said with a wicked glint in her eye.

“Good,” Glira repeated. “May I have the chocolate now?”

“Of course,” Molly said. She reached into the circle and politely unwrapped the Hershey’s Kiss, smoothing out the foil into a flat square and placing the chocolate back into the ring. Then she turned away and whispered to me, “It’s not polite to watch them eat.”

“Oh.” I diverted my gaze. “Right. I need an etiquette course or something.”

Molly chuckled softly. “I don’t know anything about etiquette with the Greater Fae. The Sidhe have their own set of rules.”

After a few moments, Glira said, “Thank you for your courtesy.”

Apparently that meant she was done eating her chocolate, because Molly turned back to the little stone circle. Glira had eaten about a third of the chocolate and had neatly cut the rest into little blocks. She was in the process of wrapping the little blocks in a package with the silver foil.

“I have a question, if you would be willing to answer it,” I said.

Glira paused in wrapping up the chocolate. “I suppose this is more than enough reward for another question.”

“What are the weaknesses of the Sidhe? How can they be hurt?”

The quivering slivers of light that were Glira’s wings stilled. “Oh, you do not want to anger the Sidhe.”

“We need to know,” I said. “I need to know. You want me to be able to protect Molly, right?”

Glira paced around her bundle of chocolate. “I do not know whether I should tell mortals the weaknesses of the Sidhe. I am not bound by their laws, but it would not go well for me if they find out.”

“Well,” I said firmly, “they won’t find out.”

Glira made a sound that sounded like wind rustling through green leaves—what probably passed for her sigh. “I do not know why I trust you so, Tess,” she said. “There is something…different…about you than other mortals I have met. So I shall tell you. Listen well. I will not repeat myself for even the trees can hear if they desire.”

“All right,” I nodded. “I’m listening.”

“What they lack is what hurts the Sidhe most,” Glira said. Then she picked up her bundle of chocolate and hovered at the edge of the circle. “Now, Molly, please release me.”

“What? Wait. That doesn’t tell us what hurts the Sidhe,” I said.

“Such is the way of the faeries, Tess,” Glira said, “and it would stand you well to learn it now. We do not answer all questions as plainly as you would like.”

“I don’t think you answered it at all,” I said in irritation.

Molly reached forward and removed one of the rocks.

“Fair nights and bright days to you,” Glira said with a twirl of her wings, and she was gone.

I stood up and brushed the dirt from my skin. “Well, that was certainly productive,” I muttered, my voice heavy with sarcasm.

“The Sidhe could kill Glira, if they found out what she just told us,” Molly said seriously, zipping up the front pocket of the backpack.

“She didn’t tell us anything!”

“She told you exactly what you asked, just not very straightforwardly. And that’s not her fault. It’s just in their nature to be like that.” Molly swung the backpack onto her shoulder again.

“There’s no way we can go to the Unseelie Court with no defense,” I protested.

“I don’t really have a choice, Tess. Did you hear Glira? They’re sending a knight to come collect me. I don’t think I’d win even if we tried to fight. And who knows what supernatural apocalypse we’d set off if we killed a Sidhe.”

“Can they even die?” I asked.

Molly shook her head. “I don’t know, Tess.” She took a step backward and sat down on the rock again. “Look, you don’t have to come with me. I know that you want to protect me, but….I might be safer if I don’t drag you into all this. You saw how Glira reacted when she realized I’d brought a strange mortal to meet her, and that’s after I’ve known her for over ten years. Think about how the Sidhe might react.”

“It’s a package deal,” I said firmly despite the quavering in my stomach. “They take you, they take me.”

Molly sat silently for a moment. “Well, then. You’d better set your mind to solving that riddle.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said mockingly. Then I pressed my lips together. “What they lack is what hurts the Sidhe the most. How in the world are we supposed to know what the Sidhe do and don’t have?” I wondered.

“Hm. Let me think.” Molly paced around the little depression, trailing her fingers over the trunks of the trees. She suddenly stopped, stock-still. “I’ve got it!” Her eyes widened as she turned to me and gestured grandly with her hands. “Trillow told me the story once, of a Seelie prince who loved a lady of the Dark Court. I don’t remember all the details exactly…it was a kind of Romeo and Juliet retelling, I think…or maybe Romeo and Juliet is a retelling of the Sidhe tale.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But I do remember that Trillow said the Seelie prince bled blue on the blade he used to kill himself, and the Unseelie lady cried sweet tears over his body.”

I frowned. “He bled blue. And she cried sweet tears.”

“Come on, Miss Riddle-solver, Lady of the Puzzles,” cried Molly impishly, dancing a little around the glade and ignoring my strange look.

I sat down on the rock and rubbed my nose. I always rub the scar on my nose when I think hard. I waited patiently, mulling all the pieces together in my mind, sifting them against one another. Then, finally, it all fell into place. I looked up. “Salt and iron. They can be hurt by salt and iron.”

“And why is that?” Molly asked, grabbing hold of a low branch and pulling herself up into a tree. She settled against the trunk, dangling one leg into the air.

“Iron is what makes blood red. So if the Seelie prince bled blue…that’s probably because they don’t have iron in their blood. And sweet tears…obviously, we’re taking this literally, but that means they don’t have salt in their bodies somehow. So, what they don’t have hurts them the most.”

“Salt and iron,” agreed Molly. “I remember that Trillow and Glira never let me put salt on any of the rewards I gave them…it was always sweet stuff, like chocolate or a teaspoon of sugar.”

“Then we need to find some iron and salt,” I said, starting back down the hill.

Molly leapt down lightly out of the tree and shifted the backpack on her shoulders. “Salt will be easy enough. But iron?”

“Any places around here that we could find old nails? The kind that would be mostly iron?” I asked, my forehead creased in thought.

Molly paused in thought. “There’s an old cave down in the gully southwest of here. We call it the Indian Cave. Sometimes around there we’ve found old nails or horseshoes that were cast off when it was used as an outlaw camp.”

I arched an eyebrow. “An outlaw camp?”

Molly grinned. “Okay, okay, so maybe it’s only Austin and I that think that it was an outlaw camp. We found it when we were kids.” She motioned. “Come on.”

Chapter 5

Molly led the way through the glade, picking up a small trail that threaded down the opposite side of Crownhill. The trail wended through the trees, meandering like a stream under the green-dappled forest floor. The forest only extended for about a mile or so after we came down from the hill, eventually dwindling to a few scrubby cedar trees dotting the dirt. Molly continued unerringly, making for the crux of two hills up ahead. Between the two hills, there was a steep valley cut into the rock. It looked as if giants had sliced open the hills with a knife, shearing the earth straight through and revealing the pale veins of gray and blue in the white rock.

The trail disappeared, and Molly picked her way over the increasingly stony ground. I slipped and scudded behind, cursing a few times as a stone slid out from under my foot. Somehow, a few bushes had woven their roots into the sides of the rocky valley, clinging to invisible fissures and growing out sideways from the walls like unruly shocks of hair. Leaves and debris covered the valley floor.

“The spring rains haven’t washed it all away yet,” commented Molly. “All the rattlesnakes should be awake by now though so it’s all right.”

I picked my way more carefully through the leaves after that, sticking to the visible rocks when I could.

I was sweating by the time Molly stopped. She handed me the backpack. “Here.”

I slung the backpack up onto one shoulder. About eight feet up the side of the rock-face, I glimpsed a hole in the looming rock wall. It looked uncomfortably narrow, and I hoped that the entrance was deceiving. Molly fit her hands into two notches in the rock, placed almost high enough to be out of reach. She put her left foot into a knee-high niche and then, after leaning back in preparation, sprung up the rock-face, moving her right foot to a higher hold and grabbing the edge of the cave entrance with her left hand. She pulled herself up and slithered into the cave on her belly. I winced. What Molly made look graceful, I could count on doing at least twice as awkwardly. There would probably be blood.

“Hand up the backpack,” urged Molly, leaning down and extending a hand. I handed her the pack and then stood eyeing the rock face. After I felt along the rough rock for a moment, I found the handholds, and my questing toe slid into the first foothold. I glanced down to the right, hoping I would find the other foothold.
As I was taller than Molly, I didn’t need as much lift to reach the lip of the cave, but all the same I almost fell when my right foot scrabbled off the rock face for a moment before finding purchase in the niche. However, somehow I regained my balance and pulled myself through the very small, very uncomfortable opening. After getting my torso through, I wriggled on my belly until I was reasonably certain I wouldn’t fall. Then I looked up.

The cave was surprisingly large. It opened like a mouth from the small entrance, yawning back into a space that could comfortably sit three or four full-grown men. The bottom of the cave was surprisingly even, visibly worn down in some places. A few crude shelves had been hewn into the walls by the mysterious previous occupants. I decided that I liked to think they were outlaws, too.

“Roomy,” I commented dryly as I finished wriggling awkwardly into the cave proper. After banging my head on the last ledge of the entrance and swearing, I finally rested on my knees in the center of the cave.

Molly crossed her legs and sat against the back wall. I checked the bandages on my knees, grimacing when I found that one had been ripped off as I’d climbed into the cave. The scrape was scabbed over, though, so I shrugged and brushed the stone-dust away.

“So,” I said, “this is the outlaw cave. I don’t really see any iron.”

Molly smiled. “That’s because Austin and I hid it all back here.” She reached into a small chamber concealed beneath one of the rough shelves. The opening into the compartment was invisible from the front of the cave—if I hadn’t seen Molly reach into it, I wouldn’t have guessed it was there.

Molly drew out a handful of twisted, rusty metal, spreading it out on the floor of the cave with a flourish. I leaned forward and inspected the heap: a few rusty nails, a small horseshoe that had probably belonged to a pony, from the size of it; and a spoon.

“I’ll take the horseshoe,” I said, not really knowing why I felt so drawn to the bent piece of metal. Of the whole lot, the horseshoe showed the most visible signs of time: a dusty red crust of rust encased almost every inch of the metal. I ran a finger down its curve.

“All right then,” said Molly. She took three of the rusty nails and stowed them in the backpack, putting the spoon in her pocket.

“Do you even think the spoon is iron?” I asked doubtfully.

She shrugged. “Can’t do any harm. If it’s that old, it’s probably at least partially iron.”

“So…where to next?” I leaned back on one hand, holding up the horseshoe to eye-level and balancing Molly’s chin on the curve of it.

“We’ll head back to the house. They won’t come to collect me until sundown. I’m pretty sure that there’s a canister of salt in the cupboard.” Molly handed me the backpack and slid her feet out of the cave. Her head disappeared and I watched her fingers flex on the sill of the cave entrance, then let go. I tossed the backpack down to her, sliding the horseshoe into my waistband as I slithered backward over the rough cave floor. My foot missed the last hold, and I didn’t avoid falling this time, landing hard on the stones. I grumbled at myself as I stood and brushed off a few stray leaves.

Molly looked off into the distance. She seemed preoccupied, and I didn’t really blame her. Then she turned to me and said, “Why did you stop seeing Eric North?”

“What?” I stared a little, caught completely by surprise. “How is that relevant to all this?”

“It isn’t,” Molly said, brushing cave-dust out of her dark hair. “I just thought about it when we were running this morning, and you never really told me why you stopped seeing each other.”

We started picking our way back along the valley, Molly hopping lightly from stone to stone and me crashing along behind.

“Do I really have to give a reason?” I asked, shifting my shoulders uncomfortably and eyeing a rock that looked stable. I touched it with my toe and it wobbled. I gritted my teeth—I just wasn’t built for this delicate hopping-about business.

“Yes,” Molly said. “He was gorgeous and taller than you even when you’re wearing heels—which is a feat, my dear, you have to admit—and he played rugby. I mean, he played rugby.” She looked over her shoulder at me with her cat-like eyes.I sighed. “Yeah, and he also spent every weekend drinking with his friends and didn’t know the difference between a neuron and a neutron.”

“So?” Molly shrugged. “That’s what guys our age…that’s what they do.”

“Well,” I said, “it’s not what I want.”

Molly glanced at me over her shoulder. “Suit yourself. I thought you were pretty in love with him there for a while. You were together for a whole semester.”

“I was never in love with him,” I said.

“Well, then he was in love with you.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “Yes, Molly, we were together. I was happy with him for a little while. But that doesn’t mean I was in love with him, or he was in love with me.”

Molly shook her head. “You are never going to find a real man that meets that invisible checklist in your head, Tess.”

“I don’t have a checklist,” I protested. “I just…haven’t been able to find what I want. And it’s not like you have room to talk.”

“Maybe I’m not looking for a man,” said Molly. From the tone of her voice, I knew her eyes were hazy with that far-off look she got when she was speaking about the Fae.

“Oh, you’re looking for a faery?” I asked. “One of the Sidhe?”

“They’re dangerous,” Molly said, almost automatically. “But…I’m beginning to think that I’m one of them, Tess. Or at least half. Why else would they care about me?”

“Wisp said you were a half-blood,” I said, the memory of my conversation with the glow suddenly replaying very clearly in my head, like a snippet of a recording: I’ve flown far tonight and must rest before I return—straining my wings just because some little half-blood doesn’t like the idea of heeding an order from the Lady herself!

Molly paused for a moment, balancing on a rock. “Then I suppose I’ll figure out the whole story when we arrive at Court.” She jumped and landed on her other foot, poised precariously on the edge of the rock. “So tell me again why you rejected the gorgeous, studly Eric North, who would have gladly been the father of your children. I bet he would have even put up with you having your own career.” She grinned impishly.

“Since when do I have to settle for studly and gorgeous? I was with him for longer than I should have been, and I have to say that I wasn’t particularly impressed. I wasted more time than I should have.” I kicked a small rock and watched with satisfaction as it bounced away.

“Oh, right, he couldn’t tell the difference between a neuron and a neutron,” Molly said.

“I just think there should be more to life than parties and having fun,” I said.

“Oh, really?” Molly returned dryly. “You went to enough parties, you could have fooled me.”

“Because I thought that maybe if I tried it, if I acted like I enjoyed it, maybe I would,” I said honestly. “But the whole time I would be thinking about organic chemistry homework, or what route I was going to run the next afternoon. I was never really there.” I shrugged again. “I don’t know, I thought that maybe if I convinced myself that I liked it, I would…just like with Eric.”

Molly stopped and looked at me suspiciously. “You did like Eric North. You wouldn’t shut up about him for weeks, until I finally told him you liked him.”

“There’s a difference between lusting after someone and truly liking them,” I said, feeling my face heat with a blush even as the words left my mouth.

“Oh, my puritanical little Tess,” Molly said. “It took you that long to realize that?”

“Like I said, I thought that maybe if I pretended hard enough, it would come true.” I had had enough of this vein of conversation, so I looked at Molly and said, “Just like your—aunt—thought that if she pretended hard enough, you would be normal.”

Molly’s lips thinned. “That’s not exactly a fair comparison.”

“It’s fair enough,” I said. Then I frowned a little. “Why do you care so much why I broke it off with Eric?”

I saw Molly’s shoulders stiffen before she shrugged nonchalantly. “I introduced you.”

“No,” I said slowly. “I’m not…different…like you. Is that why you’ve never dated, because of all this?”

A hard, brittle laugh escaped Molly’s lips. “What do you think? When do you tell a boy that you’ve talked to faeries for most of your life? Is that second date material or should I wait until the third?”

“You wouldn’t have to tell him.”

“Yeah, because keeping huge secrets is great in a relationship. What would he do if all of a sudden I get an order to appear at the Court, or if Trillow or Glira come to visit? I mean, I would have to give it all up…but I can’t. I thought that much was clear.” Molly’s eyes glowed in the sun, that odd glint surfacing again. “I have no control over this, Tess, and I already brought you into it. I’d rather not trap another person too.”

“You didn’t trap me,” I objected. “It was my own curiosity.”

“However you want to color it, it’s still the same picture,” Molly said.

We walked in silence for a few moments.

“Well,” Molly said finally, “I guess I just hope you won’t be disappointed. You want so much…more.” She shrugged when she couldn’t find better words.

“I know,” I said. The ache that had been my emotions about Eric North nudged against my ribcage, where it had lain dormant for the past few weeks. It wasn’t hurt, really, because I had been the one who had ended the relationship. It was the ache that I felt when I thought about how I had tried to force myself to fall in love with someone I didn’t even really like. Eric had the body of a Greek god, with blonde hair and gray eyes that made women melt. His looks had captivated me for about a month. Then I had started to realize the small things about him that truly irked me. “Everyone told me I was so lucky,” I said. I knew I didn’t need to tell Molly what I was talking about again. “And I believed them. He was good at telling me the things I wanted to hear, but the more I heard them, the more I realized that it was all…hollow.” I shrugged. We were walking side by side now. “I just feel like…most of the people I meet, that’s how they are. Hollow. Fake, somehow.”

Molly merely nodded at my assertion. She let the subject drop, my thoughts of failed relationships fading away slowly as we continued walking.

“So. Salt and iron.” Molly took out the spoon from her pocket.

“I wonder…do we just have to throw salt at them? Or…how exactly does that work?” I mused aloud.

“It’s probably like with slugs. You get it on their skin and they absorb it, or if it’s mixed into water or food and they drink it.” Molly shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That’s what I’d think, anyway.”

“How is it that you haven’t shriveled up, then?” I asked suddenly. “If you’re half-Fae, why haven’t you just keeled over from spending over twenty years in this world?”

“I’m guessing that human blood is hardy,” Molly replied. “Other than that, I have no idea. Maybe they put a spell on me or something to protect me.”

We hiked up the trail to the cabin. I used the sleeve of my t-shirt to wipe the sweat from my face. The late afternoon sun threw our shadows against the rocks as we walked, and I realized with a twinge of unease that it was much later in the day than I had thought. The conversation with Glira had lulled me into that same dream-like trance, even though I’d been far more lucid than when I’d met Wisp. Dream or no, he’d said that I got faery-drunk easily, and I knew now what he had meant. I wondered if Molly knew the lateness of the hour.

At the top of the hill, next to the crude driveway, the hood of the pick-up truck was still propped open, but Austin was nowhere to be seen. Then, as we neared the porch, I stopped and grabbed Molly’s elbow. “Were you expecting visitors?”

“We don’t get visitors…” Molly trailed off as she saw what had stopped me in my tracks. “…Out here,” she finished.

A midnight-blue motorcycle stood by the front porch, coated with a pale rime of dust from the unpaved roads. It would certainly have been a feat, to get a motorcycle up the steep paths. I started toward it, intrigued.

“Tess,” Molly hissed.

“What? It’s out here…all by itself,” I replied over my shoulder. “The least we could do is find out a little about this visitor before we go inside.”

“It could just be one of Austin’s friends from school,” Molly said, but I heard the doubt in her voice.

Something was strange about the motorcycle. At first, I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, the idea hovering just out of my range of thought. But then, as I inspected the machine from a few feet away, I realized—it didn’t gleam. And not just because of the dust—because it didn’t have any visible metal parts. I wasn’t a gear-head type, so I didn’t know if there were specialty bikes made out of different materials, but it struck a chord of unease in the pit of my stomach. “No metal,” I said to Molly. I touched the handlebar gently. “Or…if it is metal, it’s coated with something.”

“Shit,” she said under her breath.

“When’s sundown?” I asked.

Molly glanced at the sun, shielding her eyes, and then at her watch. She muttered another curse. “Half an hour.”

I looked at the house. “I don’t hear wailing or gnashing of teeth,” I commented, “so I suppose he looks fairly normal.”

“Maybe it’s a she,” Molly said darkly.

“Well…what are we going to do?” I flicked a fleck of dust off the seat of the bike.

“Nothing else to do but go in,” Molly said. She glanced at me and then handed me the backpack. “Grab the canister of salt, if you can. It should be in the left cupboard, top shelf.”

I nodded and slung the backpack over my shoulders. The horseshoe pressed against my skin as I walked forward, still tucked into the waistband of my shorts. Somehow its cool weight reassured me. Walking up the steps to the porch after Molly, I watched as she steeled herself before putting a hand on the door-handle. Before she could open the door, though, the knob turned and Austin swung the door wide.

“Hey, Molls,” he said brightly, though his eyes betrayed his cheerful demeanor. I knew suddenly that Austin, too, suspected something. “You didn’t tell us that one of your friends from school was stopping by.” He stepped aside to let us in.

Molly brushed past him. I widened my eyes in response to his curious look, hoping he understood that we didn’t know what was going on in this instant any more than he did. I wiped my sneakers cursorily on the doormat before stepping inside.

The stranger was seated at the kitchen table with his back to us, facing Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. Mr. Jackson looked quite at ease, in his normal blustery way, but apprehension pinched Mrs. Jackson’s face, pulling down the corners of her mouth slightly and shuttering her normally cheery eyes. She glanced up as Molly entered the cabin, and an emotion flitted quickly across her expression, too quickly for me to identify with any confidence. I thought that maybe it was fear. Fear for Molly, or for herself?

“Hey now, Molls, you were bein’ downright rude when you didn’t tell us that Finn here was gonna drop by today,” Mr. Jackson boomed, rising from the table when he saw Molly and me.

“Finn,” Molly repeated. Her voice cut sharply across the room.

The stranger didn’t move. His hair was dark, but I didn’t know whether it was actually black—where the light fell across the back of his head from the window, I saw sheens of deep purple and blue and green. I thought of winter, and the reflection of light on a dark frozen pond.

“Well, yeah,” said Mr. Jackson, as if nothing at all was wrong. I stepped to the side, toward the kitchenette. Maybe I could slip the salt into the backpack before the stranger turned around. Maybe he wasn’t the Sidhe knight come to collect Molly at all. My eyes were drawn again to the impossible beauty of his hair, the colors mingling under the bright touch of sunlight. Then I blinked and took another step toward the cabinets. Focus. I had to focus, because if this really was the Sidhe knight…things could go downhill fast, and we would need all the protection we could get.

I swung the backpack off my shoulders and put it on the countertop of the kitchenette. I opened cabinets like I was searching for something, taking out a box of granola bars and a tin of powdered sports-drink mix from one cabinet and holding them as I opened the left-most cabinet. I saw the canister of salt, tucked back in the corner. Using the granola box and drink mix to shield the canister from curious eyes, I dumped it all into the backpack. “Hiking is hard work,” I said to Mr. Jackson in response to his inquisitive glance. I smiled innocently, and then my smile froze as the dark-haired stranger turned his head.

He transfixed me with his gaze like a collector pinning a butterfly to a card. His eyes were blue, but a blue so dark I could barely see the black of his pupils. I dizzily put a hand behind me, gripping the countertop for support as the world seemed to fall away. I knew instinctively that this strange young man was the Sidhe knight—because no man I had ever seen was so stunningly beautiful. I tried to form a sentence, but my mouth refused to function, so I was reduced to a stream of words running through my head, fragmented thoughts tumbling after one another like water over rocks. The word ‘beautiful’ had entered my mind—and although the word normally describes feminine features, it fit the stranger sitting at Molly’s kitchen table. ‘Handsome’ fit, too, but it seemed inadequate. I used the word ‘beautiful’ in my head to describe him because he seemed…wild. An undercurrent of danger hovered in the air around him. I felt it like an electric charge. He gazed at me as I struggled to breathe, his dark brows drawn down slightly over his powerful eyes. Then he spoke.

“You must be Tess,” he said in a strong tenor voice. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

I swallowed and took in a deep breath, willing myself to stop staring like a complete idiot. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Of course we haven’t,” he said, the smallest of smiles turning up his perfect lips. “But certain…mutual acquaintances, let us call them...they have told me about you.”

“I don’t understand why you’d be interested,” I said, feeling the beginnings of anger sparking in my chest. I clenched my teeth, willing the fire to glow hot and burn away the fog still lingering in my mind. “You’re here to see Molly.”

“Of course I am,” Finn said, that small infuriating smile lifting the corner of his mouth again. He turned to Molly. She crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders but meeting his eyes defiantly. “Molly, can we talk outside?”

I saw Austin narrow his eyes slightly at that. He was staring hard at Finn, his blue eyes flinty. I had never seen this protective side of Austin before, but I supposed it was innate…even younger siblings felt protective sometimes. I knew that as well as anyone. I tried to catch Austin’s eye, but he crossed his arms and stared at Finn like he could burn a hole through the side of his head just by glaring. I took a breath and squared my shoulders, firmly tamping down the overwhelming weakness jellying my knees. “Well,” I said in the best friendly voice I could muster, “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I came with you and Molly. I think we had a class together sophomore year, now that I think of it…”

I saw the small movement of Finn’s eyebrow again—just a fraction of an arch, but enough to show his amusement. “Yes,” he said, taking a few steps closer to me. The air suddenly condensed around me, making it very hard to breathe again. I stood very straight and stuck my chin out a little, clenching my hands into fists. My fingernails bit into my palms and I used the pain as an anchor against the tide of pure energy rolling off him. He stopped about an arm’s length away from me, searching my features intently as if trying to remember me. “I think we had chemistry together,” he said, suppressed humor coloring his tone. He sounded like a professor talking to a female student whom he knows has a crush on him.

I felt myself blush fiercely. “No,” I snapped before I could stop myself, “I think I remember now, you were in calculus with me. And I couldn’t have been more bored.”

“Calculus is a boring class,” agreed Molly, edging up by my side. “Obviously you two didn’t really bond at all during it, so let’s take this conversation outside, shall we?”

Molly tugged at my elbow. I narrowed my eyes in what I thought was a glare at Finn before allowing her to pull me toward the door.

“Molly, be back by ten, y’hear?” Mr. Jackson said, his voice trailing off behind us.

“Right,” Molly called back. She made a face. “Back by ten.”

I followed Molly down off the porch onto the scrubby grass that surrounded the cabin. With no warning, Kirby rocketed out of a patch of prickly-pear cactus. He barreled past me, a streak of brown and white with an accent of pink where his tongue lolled out to the side. I turned and watched, hoping Kirby would somehow scare off Finn and save me the trouble of testing out my theories about salt and iron on the Fae. But to my disappointment, Kirby scrabbled to a stop right before running into Finn’s legs, his stumpy tail wagging so hard that his entire back end wriggled.

Finn put out a pale hand and let Kirby sniff his palm. After Kirby licked his fingers, he scratched the dog behind the ears for a moment. Kirby whined in enjoyment.

“Kirby’s never been a very good judge of character,” Molly commented dryly. “He’s not the smartest.”

Finn’s face remained impassive. He looked first at Molly, then at me, still rubbing Kirby’s ear. “I believe you both know why I’m here.”

“You might as well just tell us,” I said tightly, stepping forward a little. “Spare us the ‘mysterious-stranger’ role playing.”

He chuckled softly, an enigmatic smile playing across his lips. “No matter how much time I spend in the Overworld, I never remember how impatient you mortals can be.”

“Maybe it’s because we don’t have all eternity to stand around and talk,” I said acidly.

“Then let me properly introduce myself,” he said, taking a step closer to us. It was a delicate dance, this spacing between us. “My name is Finnead, and I am a Knight in the service of Mab, Queen of the Unseelie Court and Lady of Darkhill.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Molly elbowed me sharply. I glanced at her and saw her jaw clenched tightly, her lips compressed into a thin white line. Perhaps proper etiquette during introductions fell into the very large category of all that I didn’t know about the Sidhe.

Molly tapped one toe behind her other heel and bent her knees a little. I blinked. Was she curtseying?

“Are you curtseying?” I whispered, shifting the backpack awkwardly on my shoulders.

“Yes,” Molly whispered back.

“Do I have to curtsey?” I asked in the softest whisper I could manage. To his credit, Finnead discreetly pretended not to hear us, devoting his full attention to rubbing Kirby’s ears.

“It would probably help,” Molly replied.

“The things I do for you,” I muttered, trying to copy Molly’s motion. I wobbled a little bit but managed not to fall over.

Finnead inclined his head gracefully, bowing as if it were the most natural exchange in the world.

“Well met, Finnead, Knight of the Unseelie Court,” Molly said.

“Well met, Molly Jackson,” Finnead replied.

I wobbled a little more, decided curtseying was rather silly and put out my foot to catch myself before I fell, successfully stubbing my toe on a large rock. I felt my face heat. Why did my clumsiness have to manifest so obviously? I forced myself not to sigh, instead looking fixedly at Kirby until the wave of embarrassment ebbed over me.

“I understood from the missive that I had until midnight tonight to make my presence known to the Unseelie Queen,” Molly said, sounding more composed and icy than I’d ever heard her before. She stood with her feet together, back ramrod straight, hand loose at her side. I glanced between her and the Knight, estimating that her head just barely came up to his shoulder. That meant that he was still at least half a head taller than me.

“Circumstances changed,” Finnead replied. He lowered his voice. “There were rumors that the darker powers had caught wind of you.”

Molly looked skeptical. “Does this have to do with my father?”

“In a word, yes. But we don’t have time for the whole story here. We must get you safely to Darkhill.” Finnead gave Kirby a final pat on the head and strode purposefully toward his motorcycle.

“Why should I go with you and not with the Seelie Court?” Molly asked. Her voice, though no louder than before, conveyed a resolute will that made me smile with pride.

Finnead stopped and turned, but he didn’t even blink at the question. “Because I can provide you with protection. And I swear not to harm you.”

“You swear on what?” Molly arched a dark eyebrow.

A chill ran down my spine. She looked eerily similar to Finnead when her face settled into that aloof, amused expression.

“I swear not to harm you on the honor of my Queen, the Mistress of Darkhill,” Finnead said gravely, placing an elegant hand on his chest. I thought at first over his heart, but who knew if the Sidhe even had hearts at all.

“And Tess?” Molly pressed.

Finnead glanced at me, then back to Molly. “What about her? We’re wasting precious time.”

What was it that was making him so edgy? I looked beyond him. The last vestiges of golden light burnished the western sky, illuminating the dark silhouettes of the cedar trees and covering the rocks with a layer of glowing luminescence. The Unseelie preferred the night, so shouldn’t a Knight of the Unseelie Court welcome the world’s slow slide into darkness?

“Tess is coming with me,” Molly said.

“That is against the High Code,” Finnead said instantly, “and you know this, Molly Jackson.”

“She knows of us already,” Molly countered.

Us? I stared at Molly. Since when had she so readily counted herself among the Sidhe?

“It would be smarter to have her with me,” she continued. She nudged me.

I supposed that was my cue. Brushing off my shock at Molly’s inclusion of herself with the Unseelie Knight, I tried to look very serious. “If you leave me here, I’ll just follow you. I’ll look for Molly. I already know about Crownhill, and I know how to summon a glow. I won’t stop looking.” Finnead’s expression, slight as it was, conveyed wariness and a hint of skepticism. I forced myself to meet his eyes levelly. “Trust me. I’m a very persistent person.”

Finnead held my gaze for a few seconds longer than I would have liked. I felt as though he was actually delving through my thoughts, staring deep into my eyes to discern my true motives. Peripherally, I saw his expression change to slight surprise, then thoughtfulness, and then smooth out into that calm aloofness again.

“Very well,” he said, “but you must swear an oath too.”

“What should I swear by?” I asked, feeling my heart flutter a little. I was certain Finnead’s oath was deadly serious, and he expected me to treat an oath with the same respect.

“That which you hold most dear,” Finnead replied. “Swear that you will never reveal the existence of my kind, nor any of our secrets or dwelling places, to any other mortal.”

“I swear on my brother’s life that I will never reveal the existence of your kind, nor any of your secrets or dwelling places, to any other mortal,” I said slowly and softly, the words falling heavily from my mouth like pebbles to drop into the dark air of dusk. I felt vaguely relieved that I hadn’t had to swear anything about not harming any of the Sidhe.

“You love your brother more than your own life,” Finnead said, a new kind of light filling his unfathomable eyes for a moment.

I cleared my throat. “Now who’s wasting time?” I said.

He smiled a little. “Let’s stop wasting time, then.” Turning again, he strode to the motorcycle. “I only thought I would be bringing one passenger back,” he said, “so Tess, if you don’t mind, you’ll wait here. I’ll take Molly to Darkhill and then come back for you.”

When he wasn’t speaking about the Court or oaths, Finnead spoke very much like a normal person, I noticed. Kirby trotted over to me, pushing his cold nose against the back of my knee. I put my hand on his head and started rubbing his ears. “Why are you in such a rush?” I asked as Finnead handed Molly the dark-blue helmet. She slid it over her head and buckled the chin-strap easily.

“Dusk,” he replied. “Dusk and dawn are the two most dangerous times in the Overworld for us.”

“But you like the night,” I said, watching as Finnead gripped the handlebars of the motorcycle and eased the kickstand off the ground. He straddled the bike in one fluid motion. “And aren’t you going to wear a helmet?”

“You’re very inquisitive,” he said over his shoulder. “Yes, I like the night. I am bound to the Unseelie Court. But dusk and dawn…those are the times when the balance of the world is shifting between night and day. Things lurk on the edges of night that have no place in the darkness but cannot survive the light of day. Things that do not properly belong in your world or mine.” The engine of the motorcycle roared to life. “I would rather avoid those things.” He twisted the throttle, making the engine purr. “And I’m not wearing a helmet, Tess O’Connor, because I am very, very hard to kill.”

Molly swung her leg over the motorcycle. She placed her hands on Finnead’s broad shoulders, one delicate hand on each side. I couldn’t help but grin at Finnead’s parting shot. A plume of dust shot up into the air as Finnead leaned forward and the bike rocketed down the trail. I thought I heard Molly squeak in surprise before they disappeared down the hill. I walked to the side of the house and watched the motorcycle start to climb the next hill. Kirby, still pressed against my knee, suddenly growled deep in his throat. I scratched his ears but his lips curled up off his teeth as he snarled. I moved my hand—in the short time I’d been here I hadn’t heard goofy, lovable Kirby make anything near a sound that vicious. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance. I looked up as the motorcycle crested the next hill—and a dark shape hurtled into it. Molly’s scream floated in the darkening air like a ribbon. Kirby barked and charged down the hill, and I ran after him.

Chapter 6

The last threads of Molly’s scream settled on the shoulders of the dusky hills. Kirby was a white and brown streak in front of me, racing along the rutted dirt road down the hill and up the next. He disappeared over the crest of the hill. I stretched my legs, ignoring the awkward bounce of the backpack, willing myself to go faster. I heard a strange metallic sound, a sound that sliced through the air—and then there was a horrible snarling, not Kirby, because Kirby could never make a sound that malicious. I reached the bottom of the hill and attacked the upslope, picking my knees up and pumping my arms. My lungs burned. The snarling came again and then Kirby’s bark rang out clear as a bell, cutting through the bloodcurdling sound.

As I reached the top of the hill, I swung the backpack off my shoulder and opened it in one savage motion, grabbing the canister of salt in one hand and the cool firm curve of the iron horseshoe in the other, skidding a little as I stopped. “Molly!” I called out as I saw the motorcycle, lying on its side on the rutted dirt road like a wounded beast. Icy fear spread in a sudden burst from my stomach, rushing down my legs and up my spine.

Kirby barked again. He was standing, legs braced wide, over Molly. She lay motionless on the side of the path, probably exactly how she had landed when she had been thrown from the motorcycle. I couldn’t see her face because she was still wearing the dark blue helmet. Kirby’s hackles bristled and his teeth showed as he growled, his attention focused on the other scene playing out in the dying light of the desert sun.

I wasn’t usually the screaming type, but I felt a shriek catch like a bubble in my throat when I saw the creature attacking Finnead. The Unseelie Knight brandished a sword in his hand, the blade streaked by the reddish light of the sunset, his eyes riveted on the creature standing before him. My skin crawled as the creature snarled again. It looked like a wolf, but wrong—its fangs were longer, more vicious, its lips thick and black, its fur mottled black and crusted in scarlet patches, as if the blood of its victims coated its fur. Its huge legs, which led down to paws about as big as my head, bowed out slightly from its body, like those of a spectacularly large bulldog. As it growled again, I glimpsed a dark purple tongue behind its teeth. Its eyes glowed a vengeful red, the pupils crescent-shaped, imbued with a horrible cunning and intelligence as it looked between Finnead’s blade and Molly’s unconscious form.

I heard someone breathing heavily, and a heartbeat like drums pounding on the horizon. I realized the breath was my own and I was hearing my heart in my ears like a drummer’s call to war. Some strange instinct quickened the beat of my heart further as the beast coiled itself to spring at Finnead, its muscles rippling under its hideous fur.

I watched the tense standoff between Finnead and the horrible creature, gripping the horseshoe so hard my knuckles popped in protest. I knelt in the sandy dirt, eyes still trained on the beast. Finnead spoke in a language I couldn’t understand, pointing at the creature with his sword. His words hung in the air like jewels and the icy knot of fear in my stomach loosened just a little. The creature tilted its head to the side, listening. Perhaps there would be no need for Finnead’s sword after all.

I laid my hand gently on Molly’s neck, sliding two fingers beneath the helmet and pressing them just below her jaw, feeling the slow beat of her pulse in her neck. Relief flowed through me. “Molly,” I said, touching her shoulder gently. Kirby spared a moment from his vigil watching the horrible creature’s standoff with Finnead, whining softly and nuzzling Molly’s other shoulder. She stirred and put one hand up to the motorcycle helmet. I helped her ease it off, her hair sticking up wildly. She blinked at me and then her eyes drifted over my shoulder. Her hand found my arm, clenching it in a vise-like grip that made me grit my teeth.

“That’s what knocked me off the motorcycle,” she said shakily.

“I gathered that,” I said through clenched teeth.

Finnead’s voice rose and fell, reminding me of the ocean. It felt as though his words dropped straight onto something deep within me, perhaps my soul. I drank in the sound of his voice like the desert ground soaks in rain from a cloudburst. Dimly I saw Molly sit up, Kirby licking her face—but a thread of unease worked its way up my spine. The beast’s head swung toward us, and Finnead’s voice grew louder, more commanding, but the creature didn’t listen. It opened its horrible mouth and snarled, ropes of spittle flying from its glistening fangs.

Instantly Kirby was in front of Molly, snarling his own challenge at the wolf-like beast. The Jacksons’ dog barely came up to the shoulder of the creature, but he braced his legs and snarled and barked for all he was worth, digging in his back legs as if preparing to spring. The beast took a great leap toward us, faster than thought, and there was a brown-and-white streaked blur streaking for the creature’s throat.

“Kirby, no!” Molly screamed.

Kirby clamped his jaws on the beast’s throat, his silky white fur gleaming against the rancid gray of the wolf-thing’s barrel-thick chest. I heard Kirby’s growl still spilling out from between his clenched jaws. Molly’s hand tightened around my arm until I reached across and pried away her grip. I grabbed the backpack, fumbled out the container of salt and opened the spout. Turning quickly, I poured salt in a circle around us. Suddenly the knight was beside us, sword unsheathed. I spilled salt onto him as I turned and I froze. Would his skin bubble and froth with a burn? Or would he burst into flames?

“Silly wives’ tale,” he said quickly, pushing away the canister without even bothering to brush himself off. He carved a rough circle in the dirt around Molly and me, sunlight gleaming off his swiftly moving blade.

With a ferocious growl, the beast reared up on its hind legs. Kirby slashed and fought, jaws still clamped fast on his enemy’s throat, landing a blow to the thing’s head that made it keen. Then one of the huge paws, claws catching the little light left in the dusk, found its mark, swiping Kirby aside with brutal force. Finnead quickly looked over his shoulder and changed his grip on his sword, kneeling down and sketching strange symbols in the dirt, murmuring melodic words beneath his breath.

“What is that?” I asked breathlessly as the symbols flared to life.

“A sigil of protection,” he said quickly.

Kirby staggered to his feet, a sharp whimper escaping him. But he swung his head toward Molly, and put his ears forward, turning back to face the beast.

“He’ll be killed,” Molly cried.

“Stay in the circle,” Finnead said.

Finnead leapt in front of the beast, sword flashing. In a moment when the beast retreated, he made a motion toward the dog with one hand, and poor Kirby painfully limped toward us. I grabbed Molly’s arm as she leaned forward, entreating Kirby tearfully.

“Don’t smudge the circle,” I said, but Kirby somehow understood and stepped over the lines almost delicately, despite the blood matting his white and brown fur. He collapsed in Molly’s lap, and I turned my attention back to the battle.

My eyes couldn’t follow the thrust and parry of the stranger’s sword as he danced away from the supernatural speed of the beast’s razor-sharp claws. His handsome face was alight with a peculiar expression, a joy that I couldn’t fathom as he courted death, leaping and lunging after the beast, always placing his own body between the creature and Molly. And then in a lucky stroke the beast caught Finnead’s sword between two claws. The Unseelie Knight strained to hold onto his weapon as the beast brought its strength to bear.

You must help, you must help him with cold iron! a voice in my ear said adamantly. If he loses the Brighbranr, it will kill him!

I had absolutely no idea what Wisp—because I supposed it was Wisp somehow, the voice definitely was not a product of my own imagination—meant by Brighbranr, or how exactly I was to kill the humongous beast with razor-sharp claws and a mouth full of dagger-long teeth with an iron horseshoe. And we’d been wrong about the salt, so who was to say we were right about the iron? But something unfolded within me. I felt the emotion spread its wings in my chest like a hawk, its wingtips stretching over the bones in my shoulders, stilling the frantic beat of my heart with its warm soft breast. I felt the talons, too, pricking a little into my ribs, urging me forward in that frozen moment.

Finnead’s sword flashed as it arced through the air, torn from his hand by the beast. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him grin grimly and draw out a dagger from a hidden sheath at his waist. He feinted and darted in close, driving the dagger into the beast’s shoulder; but that only enraged the beast further. It swept at Finnead with a huge paw, and he was not fast enough to dodge it. He went down under the staggering blow.

The sigil-circle flared as I crossed it, and a strange tingling sensation swept up my body. But there was no time to consider the odd feeling. I leapt at the beast with the horseshoe held high in my right hand, grabbing a handful of mottled fur with my free hand as I swung onto the beast’s back.

Its eye, its eye, put out its eye! trilled the small voice in my ear. It sounded as though Wisp would be dancing with a maniacal glee, the same bloodlust as Finnead shining in his tiny eyes.

The beast jerked as it felt my weight settle onto its back and I clung to its crusty coat with both hands, squeezing with my knees as it shook its head and snarled. I shifted my body to the side, panting. Beads of sweat stood out on my forehead. The smell of death permeated the beast’s fur, rising in rank tides from it as it moved, furiously trying to dislodge me. I gagged. Finnead shouted something in that strange language again, and it was enough to make the beast pause for just a moment. I plunged one end of the horseshoe into its eye.

The wolf-beast shrieked. The horseshoe grew hot and I let go of it with a exclamation of surprise. The creature thrashed, its eye steaming, and I was thrown in a dizzying arc, landing hard on my side by the edge of the path. There was a burst of white-hot pain, but then my body quickly rejected the sensation in favor of a nauseating numbness. I looked up to see the fate of the creature.

It convulsed on its side, the horseshoe now a mass of molten glowing metal covering its eye socket. Finnead walked lithely past the beast and retrieved his sword. He calmly wiped the dust from the blade and murmured something that sounded like an invocation in that lilting language. The blade flared brightly. Placing the point of his sword against the creature’s heaving chest, he killed it with one sharp motion.

The white-hot burst of pain I had felt on my landing returned as a slow, steadily creeping tide. I closed my eyes against it, pressing my forehead into the dirt and trying to stop the ground from spinning beneath me. After a few breaths, I felt the ground tremble slightly with footsteps, and cool hands slid on either side of my face.

“Molly?” I said.

“No.”

I couldn’t bring myself to feel awed or to blush that the Unseelie Knight, so magnetically handsome, now knelt very close to me, his hands cradling my face. The tide of pain had turned into a rip current and it was steadily pulling me away from consciousness.

“Where are you hurt?” Finnead asked in his lovely voice, his tone somehow different than when he had been trying to command the beast with his words.

“Your voice sounds different,” I said, feeling dizzy. I swallowed thickly. “And there’s dirt…on your face…”

I heard him make a small sound of…amusement? Frustration? I couldn’t immediately tell and I was in no condition to overanalyze his every move. But he didn’t move to wipe off the smudge of dirt highlighting his pale skin.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied immediately, despite my overwhelming desire to stay very still with my forehead against the dirt. My body begged me not to move, but I suppressed its pleas brutally, rolling to my left side—I had landed on my right arm—and using my uninjured arm to push myself up. My breath hitched as a wave of pain pulsed out from my right arm, engulfing me in agony. Finnead reached out and carefully steadied me with a hand on my left shoulder.

“That was very brave,” he said, his unfathomable blue eyes catching my gaze, “or very stupid. I cannot decide which.”

“Why not both?” I answered in what I hoped was a cheeky, carefree voice. Instead, I heard the little gasps in my words, the breathiness in every syllable.

“Brave and stupid,” he said, that hint of a smile creasing one side of his mouth.

“Where’s Molly?” I tried to turn my head but stopped as the sky swung around to occupy the ground’s former space.

“She is in a bit of shock, but she is fine,” Finnead replied softly.

“Is Kirby…dead?”

“Not quite. May I look at your arm?”

“Are you a doctor?” I asked, a little more sharply than I’d intended.

He looked at me with that inscrutable aloof expression. “For what it’s worth, Tess O’ Connor, I’ve been trained in mortal physiology. Occasionally there is need for that knowledge in the Courts.”

“Mortal…physiology,” I hiccupped, trying hard not to laugh so I wouldn’t jostle my arm. “Wish that was a class I could take.” I looked over Finnead’s shoulder, needing a distraction as his long fingers delicately probed at my arm. “What do you call that thing?” I asked, staring at the hulk of the wolf-beast’s carcass.

“For everything in our world, as in your world, there are many names,” he said softly, intent on my arm. I wished he would play along and distract me.

“Could you tell me one?” I asked breathily, gritting my teeth as his fingers reached my forearm. I felt a vague sensation of warmth flowing down my arm. Finnead cursed under his breath and tore a strip from his sleeve. I reeled when he tightened it around my upper arm.

“Sometimes it is called a garrelnost, in the common tongue of the world below. In your language, it would be something like…dusk-killer,” he said, the touch of his fingers like a whisper on my feverish skin.

“I fought a garrelnost,” I said dreamily. “Won’t people notice its carcass?”

“When night comes, it will fade. It has no place in this world, especially now that it’s dead.”

“You killed the dusk-killer.” I smiled a little. Something about the touch of his skin on mine made me feel like I had been injected with morphine.

“With some help,” Finnead said softly. “From you.” He leaned back a little. “And now I shall return the favor. Your arm is badly broken, and there may be other injuries I can’t see. I will take you to the Court.”

“Isn’t that…high treason…or something,” I said, feeling distinctly sleepy. “I’m sure…there’s a hospital around…”

“A debt must be paid,” Finnead said.

“Molly?” I murmured.

“She is tending to the dog,” he replied.

“He was pretty badly…hurt,” I said.

“And so are you,” Finnead replied. “Now, if I help you, do you think you can stand?”

“Yes,” I said again. My knees promptly gave out when I attempted to put weight on my legs, but this posed little problem to Finnead—he gently picked me up, careful of my arm. Somehow the motorcycle had been righted, and was on the road, waiting obediently. “Make that a no,” I muttered, cursing my own weakness.

“Molly,” I said to Finnead.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “she has the sigil-circle and iron of her own, and Kirby. We’ll be quick. When we get to the Court—” a more urgent tone entered his voice at these words—“you must not tell anyone that you know of the curse of cold iron. That would make your life forfeit at best.” He settled onto the motorcycle, and I managed to throw one leg over, my arm cradled to my chest. “Do you understand?”

I frowned through the haze of pain, not even able to feel shock at his casual mention of possible death at the Court. “No…but I won’t…”

“Good,” he said. I could feel his warm breath against my ear, and the electric brush of his skin upon mine as he settled close behind me.

As if from far away I heard the engine of the motorcycle roar to life, and my eyes closed as we started down the path to the Unseelie Court.

Chapter 7

Dimly I heard an argument. The voices belonged to men, but they were faint and I couldn’t make out the words. It felt as though heavy weights had been tied to every one of my limbs, and one on my chest for good measure. I tried to open my eyes as sensation slowly returned to my body and I began piecing together my surroundings.

The memory of the garrelnost returned in a rush, making me gasp a little. I felt a sickening pressure in my right forearm and as feeling returned to my legs, I surmised that I was still astride the motorcycle. I felt the solid warmth of Finnead behind me, and the vibrations of his voice as he spoke. My head rested to the side of his, on his shoulder.

“I understand perfectly that she is mortal,” he said, his voice containing a slight edge. I hadn’t heard him sound angry at all before, I realized dimly. And though I could feel my limbs now, I was pretty certain that I couldn’t move them under my own power, so I kept my eyes closed and listened. It wasn’t like I was eavesdropping—they both knew I was there.

“You were instructed to bring back the half-blood, not a mortal,” replied a deeper, authoritative voice.

“It is not your place to rebuke me,” said Finnead icily. “A debt of honor must be paid.”

The owner of the deeper voice laughed a slow, rolling laugh that made my skin crawl. I felt Finnead’s arm tighten slightly around my waist, and then the nauseating pressure in my arm increased. I started to shiver involuntarily. Were we still in Texas? Why was it so cold?

Finnead shifted slightly, gently sliding his arm further around me and taking my left wrist in two fingers. After a concentrated moment, he said, “She’s going into shock, Corrigan, so if you would, make up your mind.”

A series of shivers rippled through my body. I made a small involuntary noise as the movement jarred my right arm. The pressure started to resolve into a prickling sensation. I clenched my teeth and took as deep a breath as I could manage, willing myself not to make any more sounds. I felt my heartbeat in my throat, racing as though I had just finished a hard run. It was getting hard to breathe.

“And what will you do if I choose not to let you through the gate?” Corrigan asked.

Finnead shrugged languidly. “Then I suppose I would have to take the matter up with our Lady, and make my own way with the Brighbranr.”

“You would not create a Gate for the sake of a mortal,” said Corrigan, his deep voice rising in surprise and irritation.

“She has a brave heart,” Finnead said, “one that might even outmatch yours. There is something more about her than an ordinary mortal. And you know the code of honor.”

“You would do well to respect the Gatekeeper, Knight,” Corrigan said stiffly.

My shivers turned into tremors, spasms of my muscles that I couldn’t control. Despite my efforts, my teeth started to chatter. A sudden wave of pain crashed into me and I arched my back against it. I was willing to bet that my arm wasn’t the only thing broken, that Finnead hadn’t told me the full extent of my injuries.

“I give respect where it is due,” Finnead said, his voice truly angry now. If I hadn’t already been shivering, I would have felt a chill at the strength in his voice. “And I promise you, if you do not let me pass and she loses her life because of it, it will not go well for you.”

I felt a small prick of surprise. I was really hurt badly enough for Finnead to think that I might die? But then, I considered the size of the beastly garrelnost, and the hideous strength in its misshapen body, the muscles I had felt beneath its rank coat.

“You may be sure the Vaelanmavar will hear of this,” Corrigan said, clearly aware that he had lost the argument with Finnead.

“By all means, inform the Vaelanmavar after you have let me pass,” Finnead said coolly. And then he leaned in close and said into my ear, “Tess, can you hear me?”

I managed a soft and somewhat strangled sound of affirmation through the wracking shivers. It was a struggle, but I opened my eyes blearily, the dusky colors of the world blending into each other and refusing to resolve into a coherent picture. After a moment, Finnead draped his jacket gently over my shoulders, mindful of my arm, which I now noticed was in a crude sling, made from strips of some torn dark cloth.

“I cannot ride into Darkhill, so I must carry you,” he said. “And passing through the Gate may not be easy.” He was still holding the motorcycle up, but he swung his leg over and moved so that I could see his face. His dark blue eyes were sincere, and as I blinked at him, his mouth thinned and turned down slightly. Was he regretting his decision to bring me here? His face kept sliding in and out of focus, so I couldn’t concentrate properly on his subtle expressions.

“Darkhill?” I croaked.

“The place of the Hall of the Dark Lady,” Finnead explained, carefully leaning the motorcycle on its kickstand.

“Queen…Mab?”

“Yes,” he said. He helped me swing my leg over the motorcycle, and slid his hand under my knees, his other arm about my shoulders. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll…ever be,” I said, taking a breath between the words. My heart was pounding in my ears and my arm began pulsing with pain. Beneath the bright hurt of my arm, I felt aches in my ribs and back. When Finnead lifted me, the world dissolved into a whirl of agony. I tried to fight it, reaching out with my good hand, feeling something solid and warm, grasping at it and clutching almost involuntarily as shock waves crashed through my body.

Finnead walked quickly, and I could tell through the haze of pain that he took care to make his long strides as smooth as possible, but every small movement sent ripples of blazing agony through my arm, up into my shoulder, through my head and back. I felt my eyes begin to roll back, and Finnead speaking to me urgently.

“Tess, listen to me, you must stay awake for the journey through the Gate,” he said into my ear, increasing his pace.

I gritted my teeth together and realized I held a generous fistful of his shirt in my left hand, clenching it against the pain. “Trying,” was all I could manage.

“Hold on,” he said. “I’m here with you, remember that.”

Why would he say such a thing? I wondered briefly, before I glanced up and saw a glimmer against the darkness of the Texas night, and a dark shape standing by the glimmer that I guessed was the unhappy Corrigan. The slice of silvery light was about the height of a man, and Finnead walked toward it.

“I’m right here with you,” he said again as we neared the Gate.

I opened my mouth to try a sarcastic reply between my shallow, panting breaths, but then Finnead walked through the gate and the silvery light swallowed us whole. The pain of my body disappeared but it was replaced by such a riot of sensation and sound that I wanted to scream—I tried and no sound came out, I couldn’t feel Finnead carrying me, all I knew was that the silver light was eating me alive, stinging like acid against my skin, burning through to my bones, accompanied by sounds that would have been beautiful if they didn’t reverberate through my teeth, overwhelming my ears.

After what seemed like an eternity, the sensation changed—the silver light was still there, but it became even stranger, because I felt as though there was a cord wrapped about my chest, and there were people with the strength of the garrelnost on opposite ends of the cord, pulling and tugging, stretching the cord so taut around my body that I felt as though I would tear in two. And then with a great wrench, the force pulling me forward won out, and the light receded abruptly along with the feeling of the cord, leaving me gasping and nauseous. All physical sensations returned at once, slamming me back into my body. My stomach, already nauseous from the pain of my arm, rebelled. I barely had time to turn my head to the side before I retched, and the instant after that I realized that I was indeed still in Finnead’s arms. But he had anticipated the sickness, dropping to one knee and propping my shoulders against his leg so that he had two hands free. I almost fell onto my injured arm, but his hands steadied me gently.

After there was nothing left in my stomach, I weakly wiped my mouth with the back of my good hand. The aching tremors returned full force and my words came out wobbly from between chattering teeth. “What…the hell…was that?” I rasped.

“That was your first time going through the Gate,” said Finnead, as if that explained everything. “You did admirably. It kills some mortals.”

“Great,” I wheezed as the weight on my chest returned. “Good to know…you aren’t taking…any chances…”

“I think it would be best if you stopped talking,” Finnead suggested.

I took his advice and concentrated on breathing, taking advantage of the silence to push down the pain and glance around. I was half-laying on cool green grass, and the land around us swelled gently in rolling hills. A copse of slender trees stood not far away, pulsating softly with an inner glow that made them seem wrought from silver. I knew at once that this was a different world—every part of my being knew it, even through the pain. There was something lovely and alien about the landscape, something wild and sweet in the cool night air. A part of my soul ached at the foreign feel, but another part reveled in the beauty of this new world suddenly spread out before me.

“I’m going to lift you again,” Finnead warned me.

“How…far…do we have to go?” I asked.

“I thought I told you not to talk,” he reprimanded me—teasingly? Was a Knight of the Unseelie Court teasing me? “It is about…a ten minute walk.”

I couldn’t help but groan a little. I didn’t know if I could hold onto consciousness for that long…and what scared me more was that I didn’t know if I wanted to. Cold, bottomless fear washed over me. I clutched at Finnead’s shirt again and felt tears squeezing themselves from the corners of my eyes. Frustrated, I clenched my teeth and willed myself not to cry.

“One more thing, Tess,” said Finnead, a new urgency in his voice. “When we are at the Court, remember, it would be best if you did not mention you know about iron.”

“Why?” I wheezed, confused. I remembered, with the vagueness of a dream, that he had said something to me about iron, before the silver light. I remembered the cool curve of the horseshoe in my hand, and the sudden heat of it as I stabbed it into the beast’s eye.

“It does not go well for mortals who know the Fae’s weaknesses,” replied Finnead. “It’s for your own safety.”

I couldn’t find the breath to make words, so I just nodded weakly, which set my head swimming. Finnead lifted me again and set off at his long, loping walk, which I was sure would be equivalent to a brisk jog for me. I kept my eyes shut, shivers ripping through me now and again despite Finnead’s jacket wrapped about me. A different kind of pain was settling into my chest. I felt myself breathing faster, heart pounding in my ears.

“Tess,” said Finnead, “you have to relax. We’re almost there.”

As much as I wanted to obey his words, I couldn’t. My body had finally had enough, and I felt myself sliding into unconsciousness, Finnead’s urgent words echoing in my mind as I succumbed to the darkness.

At some point, I awoke, and there were voices around me that I didn’t recognize, blurs of faces that I couldn’t make out. There were a few moments of blinding pain, and soothing hands, and then comforting warmth. Softness. Sleep.

I dreamed of strange things, in the disjointed way of fever-dreams or hallucinations. I saw Molly crowned with blue fire, holding aloft a shimmering gray sword. I glimpsed Finnead on his motorcycle, Molly behind him, her hands crusted with dirt and her eyes red from tears. And then the dreams brought me the image of a beautiful woman—one of the Sidhe, I had no doubt—clad in a white robe, standing straight and tall before a congregation of the Fae with a white-gold circlet on her brow. She raised her hand and spoke but I couldn’t hear her words, and then the image dissolved as if washed away by water, replaced by a glimpse of the same woman. But now she knelt in a dark and gloomy space, her white robe bedraggled and her crown gone. She looked wild and desperate and fragile. Then my dreams turned again to Finnead, and the picture of him as he had looked battling the garrelnost, except this time, the beast wrenched the sword from his hand and swiped at Finnead, knocking him aside as it had Kirby. I put out its eye with the horseshoe, and then ran to where the knight lay, unmoving. This time, deep gashes marred his chest, visible through the great rents in his shirt and jacket. His inscrutable eyes gazed up at me and he said, “You must kill it yourself.”

“But,” I said desperately in my dream, “I’ve never held a sword before…I don’t know how.”

Suddenly Liam was standing beside me, looking down at Finnead and then back at me. “I always have to protect you,” Liam said. “You’ve never been able to take care of yourself, Tess.”

And Liam took Finnead’s sword and stood against the beast. The garrelnost caught him again with his claws and I watched helplessly as the creature dragged my brother toward him—

“Wake up, mae saell doendhine, wake up.”

My eyes flew open and I gasped. I blinked and turned my head to the side.

“You were dreaming,” the woman by my bedside said.

I gripped the bed-sheets reflexively. “Who are you?” I croaked. I looked around the small room.

“If you are looking for the knight who brought you, he’s not here,” the woman said calmly. She sat with her pale hands folded in her lap. “I am Allene. Do not be afraid. You are in the Court of the Dark Lady as her….guest.”

Something about the way Allene said “guest” made me think she really meant “prisoner.”

“In Darkhill?” I coughed a little, my throat dry from sleeping for so long. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” Allene stood and poured a cup of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. She made as if to hold it to my lips, but I shook my head. “I can drink by myself.” Then I paused, remembering some snatch of a myth. “If I drink this…” I said slowly, voice rasping.

“You won’t be bound here just by this drink, or eating something to sustain you,” Allene reassured me. “Only certain special foods fall under that law, and it’s antiquated anyway.”

I believed her. Something in her words made it impossible not to think she was telling the truth. I took the cup clumsily in my left hand—my right was splinted and wrapped in white bandages—and managed to drink, spilling a little down my chin. The sweet sting of the liquid made me cough a little. I realized belatedly that I wasn’t drinking water. I finished and gave the cup back to Allene. “What was that?” I asked, swallowing a few times.

“We call it laetniss,” Allene replied. “Light-water.”

“Where’s Molly?” I asked, feeling a prickle of unease that I was alone, in the Unseelie Court, without Molly or even Finnead. Then I remembered my dream. Liam’s words bit into my mind again. You’ve never been able to take care of yourself, Tess.

I wished suddenly that I hadn’t asked about Molly.

“If you mean the half-blood, then she is in the room just over,” said Allene. Then she checked herself and looked at me. “I apologize,” she said. “It was rude of me to use our words for your friend.”

“Half-blood?”

“Yes. It isn’t considered polite to call them that. But mostly all of us left are full-blooded, since the Overworld became bound in iron and smoke. Most of us haven’t taken mortal lovers for years upon end.” Allene’s lovely pale face looked a bit sad at her last statement. Her pale gray eyes, lit from within by her thoughts, reminded me of the moon.

“You took mortal lovers often?” I couldn’t help myself. Curiosity made me sit up a little straighter in the bed.

Allene sighed longingly, turning her head half away from me as she gazed into the distance. I glanced at the intricate braiding of her dark hair, woven like a tapestry, and felt a twinge of envy at the very beauty of it. “Often enough to miss it now.” Then she glanced at me and the girlishness left her face. “But that’s neither here nor there, saell doendhine.”

“What’s that mean?” I felt like an idiot, asking question after question, and what little strength I had was beginning to fade.

“Saell doendhine? It means…” Allene searched for a moment for the words. “Young mortal. Human. It’s…an endearment.”

“My little mortal,” I said, and chuckled to myself softly. Allen seemed not to hear me as she busied herself with several small containers on the bedside table.

“Here,” she said. “Before you fall asleep again, take these. I will get you more laetniss.”

I didn’t particularly want more of the strangely sweet and biting drink, but I obediently held out my hand. Allene put what felt like pills into my palm. I looked down in surprise to see several white pills of various sizes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a modern emergency room.

“Painkillers and antibiotics,” Allene said. She smiled a little at my dumbfounded expression as she handed me the cup of laetniss. “Just because we haven’t taken mortal lovers in a while doesn’t mean we don’t keep ourselves up to date with mortal medicine. Just in case.”

“Well,” I said honestly, “I’m glad you do.” I washed the pills down with a swallow of laetniss, and drank the rest of the cup for good measure.

“Good,” Allene said. She rearranged the blankets around me. “Now you’ll sleep more, and when you wake up again you should be mostly well.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Am I going to sleep for three months then? I’m pretty sure my arm was broken.”

“There is your mortal medicine,” said Allene, “and then there is Sidhe healing. You have the benefit of both.” She rearranged my pillow. “I didn’t say your arm would be completely healed, either. You will be mostly well.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little. I lay back on the pillow and yawned. A comfortable warmth spread from my stomach…a product of the laetniss, I suspected. Part of me wanted to ask Allene about Finnead, but sleep stole over me so quickly that I had no choice but to close my eyes. I drifted into dreams again, Finnead’s face the first image in my mind.

Chapter 8

When I opened my eyes again, firelight danced on the walls of my small room. Allene still sat by my bedside, her dark head bent slightly and her long fingers moving gracefully as she drew a needle and thread through blue cloth. Then she looked up, and her moon-pale eyes brightened as they met mine.

“You’re awake again,” she said, deftly tying a knot in the silver thread. She cut the thread with a small pair of scissors and shook out the blue cloth. It was a long shirt, with a broad scooping neckline and loose sleeves. A delicate pattern of silver vines and leaves shimmered about the wrists and neck of the shirt. Allene smiled at me. “You have impeccable timing, saell doendhine. I’ve just finished.” She put her needle and thread aside and stood, draping the shirt over the back of a chair, adding it to the other pieces of clothing folded and arranged there. “Are you thirsty?”

I nodded, finding my throat too dry to speak. She gave me a cup and I was relieved to find that it was water. Sweet, crisp water, but nothing like the laetniss. Allene watched me, a small smile still turning up one side of her mouth. I looked at her once I was finished drinking, unsure of what came next.

Allene took my cup and put it on the bedside table. “If you feel strong enough,” she said, “your friend Molly has been asking for you.”

While I felt much better, just the thought of walking anywhere made my arm ache a little. “Can she come in here and visit?”

Allene shook her head. “This is the healing-room. It is only for those who are injured or sick, and those caring for them. It has…” She paused, searching for the words. “It has a certain kind of power. We call it…I think in your tongue it is called holy.”

I thought about that for a moment. “The power in this room…could it do strange things to a person?”

“Like what?” Allene asked, smoothing a wrinkle out of the bed-sheets with her graceful hand.

“I’ve had strange dreams,” I said. “Dreams that felt real.”

“They very well may have been. You might have been seeing things that were, or are, or could be,” Allene said. “Especially since you are from the Overworld.” Before I could ask, she clarified. “We also call it Doendhtalam, the mortal world.”

“And what’s the name for your world?” I asked, intrigued by this mellifluous language.

“Faeortalam,” Allene replied. “The true world, the fair world.”

“Dreaming is different here than in Doendhtalam?” I asked, trying out the word. I probably pronounced it wrong, but Allene looked pleased.

“It is from Faeortalam that dreams come,” she said. “Mortal dreams…the very substance of them, it comes from this world, through the gates where Faeortalam and Doendhtalam meet.” Her gray eyes grew distant. “In recent years, most of the gates have closed. And there are only a handful left that our Knights may pass through. Our historians have been scouring the scrolls. We do not know if it is the fate of Faeortalam to die slowly, choked by the smokes of your factories and the death of your dreams.” Her face darkened. “And the evil from our own world…it spreads like a poison.”

I pushed down the covers with my left hand, moving my legs experimentally. I felt weak and a little sore, but other than that everything seemed functional. “If dreams come to us from your world, what does our world give you?”

“Substance itself,” Allene replied. She held up a hand as I opened my mouth to ask another question. “I am no great scholar, saell doendhine. I do not know how to explain it very well, only that without your world, we would probably be little more than shadows, dreams passing through the light now and again.”

I pushed myself into a sitting position with my left arm, and swung my legs off the edge of the bed. Allene stood close by as I stood. Other than a slight head rush and a bit of tremble in my knees, I felt fine. I pulled at the hem of the white nightgown awkwardly, not really wanting to think about how I had gotten out of my jeans and t-shirt.

“Would you like to bathe?” Allene asked.

I put a hand to my hair and grimaced. “Yes, please.”

Allene guided me to a small room off to the side, really only an alcove in the wall with a heavy curtain partitioning it from the rest of the room. To my surprise, it concealed an intricately wrought shower-head. Allene showed me how to work the levers and dials, and then explained the different soaps and creams laid out in small dishes on a ledge. She left two towels folded on a chair just outside the curtain, along with a set of fresh clothes.

I didn’t waste any more thought on wondering at the existence of the shower. Obviously the Sidhe were a sophisticated people, not stuck in medieval times or anything of that sort. Awkwardly, I managed to pull the nightgown over my head. I still had my elastic pony-tail holder in my hair, which somehow gave me a little bit of comfort as I turned on the stream of water, slipping inside the curtain. Turning the dials so that the water steamed, I let the hot stream sluice over my body, easing my aches. My arm hurt a little, but nothing like the hot pain that had radiated from it before, and there was no cast, just the cloth sling that I reasoned would dry eventually.

Washing my hair one-handed proved to be frustrating, but the sweet scent of the hair-cream that served as a shampoo mollified me. I scrubbed my face and then washed my body, noting the fading bruises across the right side of my ribs. I hissed when the soap got into some half-healed scrapes—the worst ran up the side of my right leg. The thought of the garrelnost surfaced suddenly in my mind and I jumped a little at the clarity, the precise reality of the image in my head. I could see the beast’s glistening fangs and evil eyes as plainly as if I were looking at a photograph. I shook my head a little, putting my face under the hot water to wash the thought away. If this world affected my dreams, then perhaps it would affect my waking mind as well, I thought. The idea made my stomach twist uncomfortably. Photographic memory had never been on my wish list.

I wrapped one of the towels around my body and the other around my hair. Allene had politely left the room, leaving a set of fine new clothes laid out carefully on a chair. The blue shirt, embellished with Allene’s remarkable embroidery, fit loosely over a plain white undershirt, reaching halfway down my thighs. I carefully took my right arm out of the sling, grimacing a little at the tender pain as I slipped my arm through the sleeve. The dark pants fit snugly, and they were made of some slightly elastic material that reminded me a little of my favorite blue jeans. A belt the same color as the pants nipped in the volume of the blue shirt at my waist, and there was also a pair of soft, boot-like shoes that fit as though they had been molded onto my feet.

“Good,” said Allene from behind me. “You’re dressed.”

I tried not to show that she had startled me. No sound that I’d heard had betrayed her return to the room.

“Here,” she continued, “if you sit down I’ll braid your hair.”

I sat down in the chair that had held my clothes. Allene picked up a comb from the bedside table and came to stand behind me. Her hands were gentle and methodical as she combed my hair.

“How does your arm feel?” she asked as she worked through a tangle.

“It’s sore,” I admitted, “but a lot better than I expected.”

“Mortals are very slow to heal,” Allene said, “but you healed more quickly than we expected as well.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Going through the Gate didn’t kill me, and I healed more quickly than you expected. I’m two for two.”

Allene began braiding my hair. I could feel her twisting and weaving the strands together, much more gently than my mother had ever braided my hair when I was younger.

“You’re lucky,” Allene said seriously. “It may not be my place to say…” She hesitated.

“What? I won’t be offended.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingers working through my hair.

“I don’t think the other Knights would have saved you,” Allene said softly. “Since the Gates began closing, since you…your kind…began wreathing your world in smoke and fire, we haven’t exactly looked charitably upon mortals.”

I thought of the alien beauty of the night landscape that I had glimpsed after Finnead brought me through the Gate. “I think I can understand that.”

“You say you understand,” Allene said gently, “but I do not know whether you do.” Her voice changed. “And we love your world, though it seems like we might not. You are all…fascinating. So warm and fiery.”

I sat silently for a few minutes, thinking. The Sidhe, though they weren’t too happy with the modern turn of the human world, did really like humans. And though Allene only looked a few years older than me, I supposed she was…ancient. Literally. When I finally found the words to speak again, I said, “Is it impolite to ask a Sidhe’s age?”

Allene laughed, a musical sound that spilled like water over everything in the room. “Some things don’t change from world to world after all, saell doendhine. Yes, it’s considered slightly rude. But I think no one would fault you for it, because after all…” She checked herself, trailing off.

“After all, I’m only a mortal?” I asked, unable to help myself.

Allene began sliding silver pins in my hair. “Yes.”

I sat up a little straighter. “Why do you need Molly so badly then? She’s half mortal,” I pointed out.

“Why the Queen summoned your friend, I do not presume to know,” Allene said with a cool, aloof tone. She went on braiding my hair and when she was finished, she left me alone for a few moments. I took a few deep breaths, willing myself to hold it together. This was, after all, the adventure that I had wanted so badly. But the constant ache of my arm and the horrible weak feeling in the pit of my stomach illustrated very clearly that Molly had been right; this reality was not a charming fairy tale, told to children before their parents tucked them in at night. The Sidhe world was beautiful, yes, but it was real and dangerous—perhaps fatal. I felt very certain that if I died here in Faeortalam, I would still be very dead in my own world.

Allene announced her return by clearing her throat. A delicious smell wafted through the air, reaching me before her, and my stomach rumbled loudly. Allene handed me a bowl and a spoon. The bowl held what looked like very ordinary oatmeal with a liberal topping of brown sugar and dried fruit. I balanced the bowl on my lap and ate with relish, as fast as my awkward left-handed grip on the spoon allowed. Allene watched me eat and I was so hungry I didn’t care at all.

After I finished, Allene took my bowl and said, “Now I will take you to see your friend.”

I felt a new strength suffusing my body, and I thought that the bowl of oatmeal probably hadn’t been ordinary at all. I stood and Allene helped me place my arm in a new, dry sling. She held me at arm’s length, like a mother or older sister, inspecting my hair and the fit of the clothes. After a moment, she nodded, and said, “Follow me. Stay close.”

What would happen if I didn’t stay close? I wondered, feeling like a very large and awkward duckling trailing after the gliding Sidhe, who seemed not to touch the ground as she walked.

The door to the small healing room opened silently, without even a slight squeal to show that it even had hinges. A slight cool breeze swept over me, the air from the passageway as fresh and light as if it had just swept over a grass-covered hillside. The walls of the hallway sloped outward, meeting above our heads in a smooth arch. They were made of a smooth gray material that looked almost like marble, shot through with veins of a white substance that pulsated softly with the same light I had seen in the stand of silver trees. The veins of silvery white formed an intricate pattern on the walls, reminding me of Celtic designs. I reached out a hand to touch the glowing white substance, intrigued as I followed Allene further down the passageway.

“You might not want to touch that,” she commented without even turning around.

I let my outstretched hand fall to my side, feeling once again like a child caught drawing on the table by her teacher. “Why not?”

“Because,” Allene said, “that is the taebramh, the stuff of dreams.”

“What would happen if I touched it?” I took a few quick steps to catch up to Allene, who continued gliding onward down the passageway.

“The taebramh is powerful,” Allene said. “I cannot say for sure.”

Allene stopped, and turned to one side of the hall. If I squinted a little I could make out the bare outlines of a door in the silver-veined smoothness of the wall. She looked at me. “That is one of the differences between the Sidhe and the Doendhe. You humans, you cannot look at a tapestry and say, it is beautiful.” Her moon-silver eyes stared into the distance as she gestured with her delicate pale hands. “You have to bring it close to your face, and look at it under a lens, and finally start to pick the tapestry apart to find out how the very wool was spun into thread.” She looked at me with an inscrutable expression on her cool, beautiful face. “You cannot look at it and admire its beauty and think it is enough.” Her mouth thinned, just a fraction, but I was getting used to picking up on Sidhe facial expressions. “You have to tear it apart, thread by thread.” Allene smiled mirthlessly. “It has been many years since a mortal has done anything of worth for either Court. We do not expect much of you anymore. It is easier to think of you as children who do not know any better so we are not disappointed.”

“Finnead didn’t treat us like children,” I said. My argument sounded feeble even to my own ears. Why was it that I felt so…adrift? I needed something solid to anchor myself in this new, strange world. I felt as though I was sliding down off the deck of a sinking ship, into inscrutable waters. I suddenly became aware that there were other Sidhe in the hallway, passing noiselessly by, no doubt hearing every word of my clumsy protest.

“A knight of the Court must…treat Doendhe differently. The Named Knights are the hands of the Queen in the mortal world.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Why did the Fae get to meddle in our world, yet there was such mistrust and dislike of humans here in their world? I saw the glances directed toward me by the passing Sidhe; I clearly did not look as though I was carved from polished white marble, and my blonde hair, even though it was on the darker side, stood out among the raven tresses of the Unseelie Court. Would the Seelie Court have golden hair, then? Perhaps we should have waited for them, I thought in annoyance, waiting for Allene to open the door with a secret password or whatever Fae charm they used. But she merely put her hand out and pushed, and the door swung noiselessly inward.

Chapter 9

The room beyond the door felt different than the healing room: freer, less constricted, less…powerful. But I felt a little cold, and I realized the power of the healing room had felt like a thick blanket wrapped about my shoulders, cushioning me against the alien feelings of the Fae world. Allene motioned for me to go through the door. I stepped into the room, glimpsing a window above a desk, candles set in tall elaborate holders, and a low bed against the far wall, just visible behind a dark blue curtain. Molly sat with her back to me at the desk, her dark head bent over what looked like a scroll. Then she turned and stood when she saw me.

“Tess!” she said joyfully, crossing the room in a few quick strides.

Despite the pain in my arm and the unanchored feeling of drifting about in this alien world, I couldn’t help but grin when I heard Molly’s exclamation. She hugged me carefully but happily, mindful of my arm in its sling. When she drew back, I noticed the change in her face. Her skin seemed a bit paler, her eyes brighter; and when she moved to the side, the light played on her hair, shimmering in auroras of deep blues and greens and purples like a raven’s wing. She was still Molly…but somehow more like herself than I had ever seen her. I couldn’t find the words for it, even in my head. It was like there had been a fog around her, when we had been in the human world, or a veil of filmy gauze, and the power of the Fae world burned the fog away, ripping the veil in two to reveal Molly as she should have always been.

“Tess, it’s so good to see you out of bed,” she said. “Here, you can sit at the desk.”

I took the chair by the desk, glancing out the window. A copse of those strangely glowing trees crowned the slight hill beyond the glass, except these trees were not silver but a dark gray, with softly shimmering green leaves. Somehow they looked more like earthly trees, and the sight comforted me.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Molly said.

I looked at her. She was gazing out the window, the strange light in her eyes that I had seen at Crownhill, and when I had first told her about my dream with Wisp. But here, in Faeortalam, the light was not strange anymore. It fit with the trees and the wildness of the land, the beauty of the Sidhe and the danger behind their grace. I felt a quick stab of loneliness: Molly truly and completely belonged here. She knew it, and I could see it.

Then Molly looked at me again. “Not your arm, or any of that.” Her lips turned downward in a familiar expression of distaste. “I still need to talk to the Bright Knight about that.”

“The Bright Knight?” I gave Molly a blank look.

She shook her head and smiled. “I keep forgetting you’ve been asleep all this time. Sorry.”

I blinked and said, “Well, would you mind enlightening me?”

Molly laughed a little. Along with the fog, some of her serious nature had lifted as well, I thought. “The Bright Knight. We know him as Finnead.”

“Oh,” I said intelligently. “That’s his title, then?”

“His official title, in the Sidhe tongue, is Vaelanbrigh, Knight of the Bright Sword. He bears the sword called Brighbranr.”

Something deep in the back of my head clicked into place. “That’s what Wisp said, when he told me to help kill the garrelnost. He said, if Finnead lost the Brighbranr, the garrelnost would kill him.”

Molly tilted her head to the side for a moment, looking at me silently with her eerily illuminated eyes. It was as if she was looking into the moon above me, and I saw the light reflected in her face; but she was gazing at me, and there was no moon, only the wall of the room behind me. “It would’ve been hard to kill the Vaelanbrigh,” she said finally. “He’s the strongest of the three named Knights at the Court.”

I held my tongue and didn’t ask what named Knights meant. I’d had enough of asking questions and feeling uninformed. If I needed to know, I would somehow find out on my own.

“So it was Wisp in your ear, then?” Molly continued. “I wondered how you knew to use the iron.”

I shrugged. “I would have figured it out anyway,” I said. “Wisp just nudged me in the right direction.”

“It’s good he did,” said Molly, “because even if the garrelnost hadn’t killed the Vaelanbrigh, it would have killed me and probably you too.”

I smiled mirthlessly. “And then the Sidhe would have been disappointed. What a shame.”

Molly perched on the edge of the desk. “You know, Tess, they’re not all bad.” She suddenly sounded a lot more like college student Molly, and less like half-Fae Molly. “Finnead almost drew his sword on a Gatekeeper, when he wouldn’t let you through at first.”

I shivered a little at the memory, the sickening pain of my arm blended with the silver light and the unbearable noise and the cord cutting me in half. “Corrigan. That was the Gatekeeper.”

Molly nodded. “They have a very strict code of honor, the Sidhe. Especially the Knights. They can’t be in anyone’s debt, because their loyalty has to be wholly to the Queen.”

I felt my heart fall a little. “So Finnead had to discharge his debt to me because that’s part of his job. I saved his life, or helped anyway, so he had to save mine.”

“More or less,” Molly agreed.

I crossed my legs and looked at the room. The walls were different in this room, made of dark bricks and mortar that were nearly the same color; I touched a finger to the wall near the desk and found the stone to be strangely smooth. Long embroidered wall-hangings, too small to be properly called tapestries but still stunningly beautiful, covered most of the walls. The one window was opposite the door, and there was no fireplace as there had been in the healing room. I slid in the chair and looked at the books on the desk, idly flipping a few pages. I rubbed a finger against one corner of the heavy material. “What’s this? It’s not any kind of paper.”

“I think it’s some kind of vellum. The Librarian wouldn’t exactly say.”

I glanced up in surprise and interest. “They have a library?”

Molly shook her head and smiled. “It’s not the kind of library you can just check out books. It’s more like a record-hall. Like…the Library of Congress or something.”

Looking down at the book beneath my hand, I examined the strange letters. It looked like something of a cross between Russian and Arabic, with flowing lines and dashes and diamond-shaped accents all running across the page smoothly. “And you know how to read this?”

Molly nodded. “Glira taught me a little, back at school. The rest I learned from Godric. He’s the record-keeper.” She smiled a little. “He’s very old, even among the Sidhe.” She tilted her head to one side. “Actually,” she continued, “he reminds me a little of Professor Black.”

Molly and I had taken a history class together our sophomore year to fill our elective slots. I couldn’t help but grin at the memory of Professor Black, an incorrigible professor well into his seventies with a shock of white hair and an old-fashioned cane, with which he would famously awaken sleeping students in spectacular and humorous fashion. “Does he slam his cane onto dozing students’ desks like Black did?” I asked.

Molly considered. “Well, he doesn’t have a cane. But then again, he does seem like the type…” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe Banging Black gave me a C, after I spent all those hours writing that paper on the role of women in ancient Greek theatre…”

“Well, first of all,” I said dryly, “you’re the only one who ever called him Banging Black. It sounds dirty, so I’d appreciate it if you’d just stick to calling him professor.”

Molly looked affronted. “It’s a good nickname! You know, because he slams his cane onto everyone’s desks, and it’s not my fault that it didn’t catch on.”

“And secondly,” I continued, “women weren’t allowed to act in ancient Greek theatre, so maybe that’s why he gave you a C.”

“They should have let women act, though,” Molly replied. “That was exactly my point.”

I shook my head, smiling as I turned back to the book on the desk. “So what’s this…Godric…character teaching you all about, then?”

“Well, most of this is just histories of the Courts. The best histories are written in their Old Tongue. They adopted mortal language as their Common Tongue, back in the days when mortals visited the Courts. The Sidhe, they can learn languages in a heartbeat,” Molly explained, flipping through pages, as though I understood Sidhe writing and could peruse the contents. I put my finger down on a page that flashed by as I saw a picture, flipping back to the illustration. The style reminded me of the illuminated Bibles I had seen under the glass in art museums. I leaned in close over the book. The illustration took up the entire page. A golden-skinned woman with hair red as flames sat on a throne, and to one side there was a beautiful pale woman with raven-black hair. On the red-haired queen’s other side, there was another pale woman, almost a mirror image of the other except that she had hair so golden it was almost white. Both of the beautiful women standing by the red-haired queen’s throne wore crowns as well; and behind the golden-haired woman, there was a flaming sun, and a lush rolling green hill. Behind the dark-haired woman, a crescent moon hung in the sky, and the same rolling green hill shone silver in the night.

“Is that…Queen Elizabeth?” I said wonderingly.

“Hm,” said Molly, leaning over my shoulder. She looked at the opposite page, tracing the words as she read them. On the bottom half of the page, there was another picture. This time the woman with the white-gold hair had her hand on the shoulder of the red-haired queen, who was dressed in silver armor. The two women stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and in the misty distance there were ships bearing red banners. The ships clouded the horizon, they were so numerous, and as I looked at the picture I felt a thrill of fear that I was sure had come from the red-haired queen in armor. I gazed down at the picture and felt her fear at the ships sailing toward her land on the gray waters. Entranced, I turned the page, ignoring Molly’s protest, and in the next picture the red-haired queen held a gray sword that shone with an eerie glow, and the fair-haired woman stood beside her. The dark-haired woman had disappeared.

“Hold on,” said Molly. “Don’t turn the page again.” She put her finger down, tracing the words again. Her voice took on a grave, studious tone as she began to read aloud. “And Queen Titania gave unto the mortal Elizabeth the fealty of the Bearer of the Iron Sword, and with this power Elizabeth, the Queen of her own land in the Adjoined Realms, defeated a great host come to conquer her people. And in return Elizabeth withdrew her friendship from Queen Mab, and the mortals of her kingdom thought the night their enemy.” Her forehead creased as she continued. “After the death of Elizabeth the Iron Sword was lost. The True Bearer of the Sword did not reclaim her birth-right. There were no more…chords? That doesn’t make any sense. I can’t figure out this word, I’ll have to take it to Godric…”

“After the death of Elizabeth,” said a familiar voice, “the Iron Sword was lost. There were no more accords with the rulers of the Adjoined Realms, and the Great Gate was sealed, and discord was sewn between the Courts of the Night and Day.”

“Oh,” Molly said, still in deep thought as she struggled to read the book, “so that’s what this accent here means, it’s not chords it’s accords, it didn’t make sense that there wasn’t any music—“

I poked Molly in the arm, interrupting her scholarly ramble. “Hello, Finnead.” It had been Finnead who had finished Molly’s translation, standing a small distance behind us. I hadn’t heard him enter the room, but Sidhe walked as quietly as cats. I congratulated myself on greeting him without a stutter or blush. He had swapped his dark jeans and black t-shirt for soft boots and trousers, and a deep blue tunic. Now he wore his sword openly, strapped at his side in a well-worn scabbard.

Finnead inclined his head slightly. “Hello, Tess O’Connor.” He paused, then continued. “I’m glad to see you are well.”

I shrugged as best I could with my arm still strapped in its sling. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

His fathomless blue eyes regarded me coolly. “I see that you are educating Tess, Molly.”

Molly cleared her throat a little. “I was practicing reading when Tess came in, Vaelanbrigh.”

“Oh,” I said innocently, “am I not allowed to call you Finnead? Do I have to call you by your official title as well?”

A ghost of an aloof smile tilted up one side of Finnead’s mouth. He didn’t answer me, instead saying to Molly, “It is time for your lessons.”

Molly glanced out the window at the glowing trees. There were no clocks, so I supposed that the glow of the trees helped tell time in some way. “I was expecting Ramel to come by, since he’s been teaching me all this time…”

“Ramel told me that you were ready for more advanced lessons,” Finnead replied in his detached voice. I frowned a little. He seemed much more aloof in his own world than in ours. But perhaps that was really his true personality, and in the mortal world he forced himself to be more engaging. The difference, I thought, really wasn’t all that great anyway, because in the mortal world he had still been an aloof, coolly smug and altogether irritating sort of person—except after I’d saved his life, and he’d carried me in his arms as gently as a lover.

“The Queen thought it best for me to teach you,” Finnead said to Molly. After his greeting, it was as if I had suddenly turned invisible. I might as well be, I thought, because after all, I was only a mortal he saved out of some misbegotten sense of honor. With his honor satisfied and, I supposed, his reputation intact, he seemed to have forgotten my existence except to extend the courtesies and polite bits of conversation that were obviously expected here in the Court.

Molly walked over to the corner of the room and opened a wardrobe. She drew out her own belt and sword. I felt a small twinge of jealousy as she buckled the sword around her waist. She stopped and turned to Finnead and inclined her head. “I am honored to be taught by the Vaelanbrigh, if that is the Queen’s desire.”

I stood and walked over to the wardrobe. Molly looked at me with a wary expression. I looked inside the wardrobe. “Is that an extra sword?”

“Yes,” Molly said. “That one’s heavier. They weren’t sure at the armory which would suit me so Ramel had me take both. Now that I think of it,” she added hastily, sensing my intent and trying to head me off, “I should probably return it—”

I picked up the sword with my left hand, a bit awkwardly. “No need to return it,” I said to Molly with my best innocent smile. “If I’m here, I might as well learn.”

I saw Molly’s eyes flicker from me to Finnead, standing silently somewhere behind me. “I know you want to learn, but your arm…should you really be doing this on your first day out of bed?”

Leaning the scabbard against the side of the wardrobe and steadying it with my foot, I drew the sword out of the scabbard with my left hand, nearly slicing into my own leg. Drawing swords out of scabbards was no easy business, I found out very quickly, especially when you are using your uncoordinated hand with your other arm in a sling. But I hefted the sword in my left hand, ignoring the clatter of the scabbard as it slid down to the floor. Somehow the weight of the sword felt right, even though my grip was awkward. My hand fit well on the pommel. I opened my mouth to make a remark to Molly, and suddenly I was aware of another body close to mine, a body that radiated energy.

“First of all,” said Finnead, “your grip is all wrong.” He reached out and rearranged my grip on the sword. My arm began to shake from holding up its weight. I clenched my teeth and ignored the burning in my muscles. “And second of all,” he said, his face very close to mine, his eyes boring into me like live coals, “don’t ever draw your sword in such close quarters again until you have received proper instruction.” He stepped away. “You could have killed someone.”

I stared at him, no witty reply jumping to my lips. Then I closed my mouth and nodded. “All right. You’ll teach me?”

Finnead turned toward the door and made a sound that could have been acceptance or annoyance. I took it as acceptance, and I couldn’t help but grin. Then I looked at the scabbard and at the sword in my hand, and my grin turned to a grimace. After watching me try to balance the sword against the wardrobe so I could pick up the scabbard, Molly batted me away and sheathed my sword for me. She buckled it around my waist, tightening it a little more than necessary. But then she looked up and caught the tail end of my smile, and she shook her head and smiled back.

As we followed Finnead out the door into the passageway, she said in a low voice to me, “Well, I guess every hero needs a sidekick.”

“Who says I’m applying for the position of sidekick?” I replied in a mock-offended tone.

“All the great superheros have one,” Molly said.

“What, you think you’re Batman or something? I’m no Robin,” I replied.

Molly smirked. We had to walk quickly to keep up with Finnead’s long strides. “I think you’d look great in green tights,” she whispered.

I grimaced. “Great. I get to make bad fashion choices and be the comic relief. Sounds like just the job for me.”

Molly laughed out loud. Finnead glanced over his shoulder and she hurriedly turned her laugh into a cough. I could have been mistaken, but I thought I saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes before he turned back around. I felt the new weight of the sword against my hip, balancing the ache in my arm, and thought that perhaps I had something to offer in this strange new world after all.

Chapter 10

Apparently Finnead, even though he was such a great knight, couldn’t handle teaching two girls how to fight with a sword at once. Or he just didn’t have the patience, because after the first few attempts to teach me a simple drill, he looked at me and said hopelessly, “You have no talent with a blade.”

Molly glanced up from a short distance away, where she was performing her own warm-up drills gracefully, her sword arcing in crescents and figure eights. She continued her drills but I could see her watching us.

“Well, seeing as how sword-fighting isn’t exactly a marketable skill anymore in the mortal world, I haven’t really had much experience,” I replied. “And I’m not using my good hand.” I smiled a little. “Don’t tell me a Knight of the Court can’t teach me how to use a sword.”

Finnead shook his head. “For all the time I spend in the Overworld, I still forget that you don’t use both hands for everything.” As if to demonstrate his point, he tossed his sword from his right hand into his left hand, handling it with the same amount of skill and ease. “And the teacher is really only as good as the student most of the time.”

“Excuse me for being mortal,” I said under my breath. I lifted my sword again and tried the pattern he demonstrated, clenching my jaw in concentration and ignoring the sweat beginning to bead on my forehead.

Finnead had led us to a gymnasium-like hall, with a high ceiling and windows that were nearly the height of the ceiling. The floor was some hard, polished wood, or something that looked like wood. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore in this alien world. But the hall was thankfully empty, so no one but Finnead and Molly saw my clumsy first attempts at handling a sword.

“You keep shifting your grip back to the wrong way,” Finnead said, sheathing his own sword as he stepped close to adjust my hand.

“It’s probably because that’s how you hold a field hockey stick,” Molly offered helpfully from her little corner of the hall.

“I played in high school,” I said after rolling my eyes at Molly. A slight crease appeared on Finnead’s forehead. “Oh…you don’t know what field hockey is?” I grinned a little too gleefully at finding something that confused the almighty Vaelanbrigh. “When we go back to my world, I’ll show you.”

“Tess,” warned Molly.

I glanced at her and then kept the other part of my comment to myself, the part about Finnead getting to know what it felt like to be clumsy at something. I was relatively certain that field hockey would present somewhat of a challenge to him, even if he was a Sidhe knight. I amused myself with the mental picture of Finnead in a kilt, hitting the ball with the wrong side of the stick…and then my brief daydream ended rudely with the entrance of another Sidhe into the hall.

“Ah, Vaelanbrigh, you’ve beaten me to her!” called the stranger as he strode toward us from the opposite end of the hall. He was shorter than Finnead, but still taller than me, and solidly built. His wildly curly hair, though still dark, shone with a coppery glow, and his broad face seemed more open and friendly than any Sidhe I’d seen thus far. For the blink of an eye my mind lit up with recognition, an unconscious reflex that made me tilt my head in puzzlement, because I was certain that I’d never seen the copper-haired Sidhe before in my life….yet there was still a feeling of familiarity about him that I couldn’t quite place.

“Ramel,” said Finnead by way of greeting, tipping up his sword in a sort of casual salute. “Yes, the Queen instructed me to personally train the fendhionne.”

As soon as he uttered the word, I knew that he was referring to Molly. I wondered if that was the polite term for half-blood.

“Well,” Ramel said, his eyes lighting up as he noticed me, “I see you’ve brought another fair little fendhionne to train.” He said the words half-teasingly, so I couldn’t take offense.

“She doesn’t need to be trained,” said Finnead in a tighter voice, “but she came along.” He didn’t look at me as he continued. “And she is not a fendhionne. She’s a full mortal.”

Ramel shrugged. “So she is a fair little doendhine, then,” he replied lightly, catching my eyes and smiling slightly. I couldn’t help but smile back. “Would you give the task of teaching her to me, Vaelanbrigh?”

For a moment Finnead stood silently. With his back turned to me, I couldn’t see his face, but I did see Molly’s expression sharpen with interest as she observed the two Sidhe men. “If you want to teach her,” Finnead said finally, “you may. Perhaps it would be best if you did.” I thought I heard his voice soften with that last sentence, but then he drew back his shoulders, just enough for me to notice. “She isn’t a quick study, though.”

Though I tried to keep my expression inscrutable, Finnead’s words stung. It annoyed me that I somehow wanted his approval, and it annoyed me more that he was so flippant about dismissing my abilities. I’d never held a sword in my life, and after half an hour of instruction he’d deemed me talentless. I set my jaw.

“Well,” Ramel replied easily, glancing at me, “I’m sure she’ll have ample talent once she has the right teacher, Vaelanbrigh.”

Finnead lifted his sword and then balanced it point-down on the floor again. Molly was trying to catch my eyes, but I ignored her. If Ramel had taught Molly the basics of swordsmanship, surely he could teach me, and I would work as hard as I needed to make sure that I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of Finnead ever again.

As Ramel turned to me and our eyes met, another small thrill of familiarity ran through me. I brushed it away, thinking in irritation that it must have been déjà vu. “My name is Tess. If you didn’t already know.”

Ramel studied me for a moment, an unfathomable expression in his eyes—was it puzzlement? Then he nodded and smiled at me. “Ramel. I have a suspicion that you really don’t care about my full name and titles.”

I shrugged. “It’s my first day awake. I don’t know a lord from a loon in this place.”

Ramel smiled at me, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Sometimes I don’t know the difference either.” He glanced over my shoulder at Finnead one last time. “Come on then, let’s give the almighty knight and his pupil some space.” He motioned to the other corner of the gym. Still holding my sword, I followed him to our new practice area. “All right. Let’s see how well you listen. There are three components to sword-fighting: the attack, the guard and footwork. Now, first things first, for the attack, there’s the thrust and the cut…”

I listened as Ramel explained the basic strokes, obediently mimicking his movements when he demonstrated. I went through the basic drills he taught me until each move was acceptable. Sweat began to run down my back, and my arm began to ache, but I still ran through the drills until Ramel told me to stop. He took my sword from me and tested its weight.

“We might want to get you a lighter sword,” he said.

“But if I practice with a heavier sword, will it make me faster, when I get a lighter one?” I asked, brushing the sweat away from my eyes and shifting my right arm slightly in its sling.

Ramel looked at me with a new light in his gray eyes, still holding my sword. “You’re really serious about learning.”

I shrugged with one shoulder, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t like sitting around and being useless.” I looked out the long windows of the hall, then back at Ramel. He swung my sword in an arc through the air, making the blade whistle. Then we sat down on the smooth floor. He folded his legs neatly beneath him and I sprawled out comfortably. He spoke about strategy ,conditioning, and practice—all the ingredients of a great swordsman, he told me. Then the conversation drifted comfortably into silence. I looked over and saw Molly and Finnead were sparring with wooden blades, Finnead clearly moving very slowly and deliberately, allowing Molly to see openings in his half-speed defense. I watched for a few moments. Molly scored a touch on Finnead with the tip of her wooden sword. They stopped and Molly smiled. I saw the glint of an answering smile from Finnead. For some reason my stomach tightened, and I let myself turn away.

“Well,” I said to Ramel, “what now?”

“Now we rest, and you think about what I’ve taught you, and when you have it all straight in your head, that’s when you practice,” Ramel replied firmly.

I nodded. “I’ll practice for as long as I’m here.”

“That’s a very reasonable statement,” said Ramel. “A logical way of looking at things.”

I smiled. “In my rarer moments of practicality, I try to think like a sane person.”

Ramel laughed a little. “My dear, if you thought like a sane person, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

“Why not?” I adjusted my sword-belt at my waist.

“Because, pretty little doendhine,” Ramel said teasingly, “no mortals believe in faeries anymore. It is all children’s stories and fantasy tales.”

I poked him in the shoulder with one finger. “Well, as far as I can tell, you’re very real, so there’s not really any use running around yelling about the impossibility of it all.” I smiled. “Besides, here I get to learn how to use a sword. Outside of Renaissance Fairs and geeky reenactments I’d never get to do that in my own world.”

Ramel nodded, running one hand over his copper curls. “You are very right about that, my dear. It’s becoming a lost art, our style of fighting.”

“Your style of fighting?”

“Well,” Ramel said, “you mortals have to get ideas from somewhere, and some of the best ones were from us, of course!”

I laughed a little. “Next you’ll be telling me that the Fae invented the light-bulb, not Thomas Edison.”

Ramel shook his head emphatically. “That’s one invention we won’t touch. Artificial light, not from flame or sun—we don’t like it at all, not even those of us that have some mortal blood in our veins.”

We settled into comfortable silence again and I lapsed into thought.

“You have a question,” Ramel said to me after a few moments. He stood and stretched with a leisurely air. “I can see it in your eyes. And it’s all right, you can ask it of me.” He balanced my sword point-down on the floor, grinning. “After all, if you couldn’t tell, I have a bit of mortal blood in my veins. I suppose that makes me a bit sympathetic.”

I looked at Ramel with fresh eyes. Now that he mentioned mortal blood, I could see it in the copper of his hair, the broader proportions of his muscular chest and arms. While he still possessed the pale complexion and cat-like grace of the Sidhe, I liked to think that his warmer personality was a part of his mortal heritage. I wanted to ask how much mortal blood he had, what that meant for him in the Court, but I suppressed my curiosity. I stood awkwardly and straightened my tunic. “I was just wondering,” I said, “if you know why Molly is so important here.”

“Ah,” said Ramel, “this would be an answer best told over some good food.” He stepped close to me and sheathed my sword, giving me a brotherly pat on the back before turning and leading me out of the hall. “And I really shouldn’t be the one telling you, because I’m really not supposed to know myself, but,” and here he turned and smiled at me over his shoulder, “boyish good looks and charm still count for something even in these dark days, my sweet mortal.”

I shook my head and smiled at him. He reminded me of Liam, a little bit…and somehow, even though I felt the familiar ache in my chest at the thought of my brother, the pain wasn’t as sharp as usual. I wondered if that was a good thing, if it was really me or just the influence of Faeortalam. After our training session, which had lasted at least two hours including all the time spent afterward just sitting and talking about strategy, I felt as though I knew Ramel as well as an old friend.

“Come on then,” he said.

We walked over to a small niche at the end of the hall. There were a few basins of water and cloths folded neatly on a shelf, much like towels folded at the campus gym. I followed Ramel’s lead, rolling up my sleeves and washing my face and the back of my neck. The towels were much softer than they looked, and the water was somehow warm, despite the fact that I couldn’t see any sort of pipes or other heating devices. As I followed him toward what I hoped was the dining hall, I said, “Can I ask you another question?”

“Of course,” Ramel said easily, winking at a group of Sidhe ladies gliding past. They smiled at him and looked at me with interest—not impolitely, but with a sort of fascination that I found a bit embarrassing. It was equal parts the kind of fascination displayed by schoolchildren at the zoo, seeing the chimpanzees for the first time; and the haughty yet interested disdain of the senior girls at school evaluating the freshmen at the beginning of every year. I wondered if I passed their inspection. Then I cleared my throat and when there were no other Sidhe in sight, I said to Ramel, “Is the knight who brought me here…the Vaelanbrigh…is he always so…cold? And rude?”

Ramel glanced at me, his warm brown eyes surprised; and then he burst into a great rolling laugh that echoed through the passageway. I jumped a little—Finnead’s laughs were small and enigmatic, and Allene had only smiled. So Sidhe were allowed to laugh after all. Or maybe it was just excusable in the ones with mortal blood, I amended to myself.

When Ramel finished laughing, he put a huge, brotherly hand on my shoulder as we continued walking. “Oh, I’d forgotten how good it is to have a conversation with a mortal.” He winked at me conspiratorially. “I still do sometimes, you know. Friends with the Keeper of the South Gate. I’m especially fond of Philadelphia, and those wondrous heart-stopping sandwiches.”

“Cheese steaks?” I offered incredulously, not quite sure what to make of Ramel’s admission.

“Yes, that’s the name,” Ramel said, grinning. “And I’ll be allowed to go through the Gates all I want—officially of course—soon anyway. The Queen just has to set me my Task and I’ll be one of the higher knights. Not a Named Knight, of course, but still.”

I shook my head, smiling. “Why was what I said so funny? Please, enlighten me.”

Ramel smiled as we came to a large double-door. Enticing smells filled the hallway, and my stomach grumbled. “Oh, I shall, pretty one. You see,” he said with a more serious tone, “I haven’t ever seen a Named Knight take such a vested interest in a mortal. He risked his position in Court, you know, to bring you here and have you healed. He broke the High Code.” Ramel lowered his voice. “It would have been within the Queen’s rights to strip him of his title and have him executed.”

I shivered. “You do that here? Executions?”

Ramel suddenly looked very much more Fae, and less jovial. His eyes shone with that peculiar light that I could never quite describe even in my own mind. “Oh, yes, Tess O’Connor. Treason is punishable by death. And there are punishments, some known only to the Queen herself, that are more terrible than death, that would make the greatest Knight beg for his throat to be slit as a mercy.” He smiled mirthlessly. “You think we are some fair and beautiful race of perfect beings, some utopian world that is beyond pain and death. Our sufferings are not mortal sufferings, just as our concerns are not mortal concerns…but all the same, there are ugly things in Faeortalam, Tess, and you would do well to remember that.”

“I will,” I said.

The hall that we entered was a long room, larger than the gymnasium but with a lower ceiling and small windows. Rows of long tables occupied the space, most of them empty; but there was a buzz of activity near the far end of the room, and Ramel led me toward it. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my hair, escaping its pins by now, and the loud sound of my footsteps behind Ramel’s cat-quiet walk. One of the long tables was set with the makings of a large meal: I saw loaves of bread and platters of round cheeses, and strange fruits piled in colorful dishes. There were jugs of water and laetniss and some drink that tasted faintly like milk, but sweeter. I sat next to Ramel and he filled my plate for me, pointing out dishes that he especially liked. Other Sidhe came and sat with us, and ate, and left. A few talked to Ramel, none to me; but they all glanced at me with that same mixture of curiosity and disdain that I had seen earlier in the eyes of the Sidhe women passing us in the hallway.

“I wish everyone wouldn’t stare,” I said softly to Ramel as a group of younger-looking Sidhe sat down, sneaking covert glances at me between passing dishes to each other and filling their plates. “It makes me feel like I’m a freshman in high school again.”

“We apologize,” said a young woman with blue ribbons in her hair. She smiled, a bit uncertainly. “It’s just that most of us have never seen a full-blooded mortal before.”

“Oh.” I glanced at Ramel, who immediately put down his fork and smiled charmingly at the lovely girl who had spoken. “I…it’s all right, I mean, I’m just not used to being…the center of attention.”

She nodded, sliding a smile toward Ramel and then turning her attention back to me. “I suppose it would be disconcerting.” She looked at the others in her group—another young woman, and three young men. Then she said, “I’m Bren, and this is Guinna.”

“I’m Tess O’Connor,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”

Guinna inclined her head gracefully. I estimated she wouldn’t even come up to my shoulder if we stood next to each other.

“That’s Emery,” continued Bren, pointing to the young man sitting beside Guinna. “And that’s Donovan.” The Sidhe sitting on Bren’s other side winked at me with one vibrantly green eye. “And sitting beside Ramel there is Ronan.”

I looked at Ronan and saw he had the same coppery hue in his hair as Ramel. “Are you two related?”

Ronan grinned and elbowed Ramel. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Cousins of a sort. Through the Sidhe side, not the mortal one.”

“I see,” I said. I picked up my fork and was about to continue eating when Bren leaned forward.

“So is it true?” she said in a low voice. “Did the Vaelanbrigh fetch the fendhionne from the mortal world?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And he fought a garrelnost single-handedly, to defend her?”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked casually.

“Oh,” said Bren, “it’s the talk of the Court right now. After all, the Vaelanbrigh has only held the Brighbranr for barely more than a year and the Queen is sending him on such…important tasks.”

“Why would fetching Molly be such an important task?” I asked. Ramel pretended to reach for a dish of potatoes but instead elbowed me. I ignored him.

“Well,” Bren said, “we don’t know for sure of course but—”

“Bren,” Emery said, “perhaps we shouldn’t be discussing matters of the Court with…Tess.” I knew he was about to say with a mortal, and I was vaguely annoyed that he had changed his mind.

“She wouldn’t be here if the Queen did not approve of her presence,” pointed out Guinna in a lovely lilting voice, putting her hand on Emery’s arm.

“That’s true,” Ronan agreed. “And the Queen would not have let Ramel start training her if there wasn’t some use for her in the Queen’s mind.”

“Then I may tell her what I please, Emery,” Bren said, emphasizing her point with her fork. I suddenly had the feeling that these particular Sidhe were young, probably about my own age in however they measured their time; and they possessed a refreshing candor, a sort of playful disdain for the conventions of the Court that Finnead and Allene clearly held so dear.

“I have heard,” Bren said, and I found myself leaning in a little toward the table to hear her better, “that the Queen intends to send the fendhionne after the Iron Sword.”

The other Sidhe, Ramel included, went very still, as if transfixed by Bren’s words. The image of Molly as I had seen her in my dream in the healing-room came suddenly into my mind: she held a glowing gray sword, and was crowned by blue fire…

“But,” Guinna said quietly after a few moments of suspended silence, “isn’t the Sword…lost?”

“The Queen must know where it is,” Emery said.

“Perhaps one of the other Knights discovered its location,” said Ronan.

“Is it in the mortal world?” Donovan asked, glancing between Bren and Ramel.

“Well, it can’t be, because then why would they have brought the fendhionne here?” reasoned Emery.

“Wherever it is, it will be a terribly dangerous journey,” Bren said with conviction. “The Sword is never given up easily.”

I sat silently as the young Sidhe mused more about the Sword, and Molly. Then, when there was a lull in the conversation, I asked, “Why is it that they would need a half-blood to retrieve the Sword? Why not one of the Knights?”

“Because,” Ramel answered immediately, “the Sword is not a weapon that can be wielded by the Fae. It was forged from the cooling metal of a star that had fallen from our world into yours, one of the rarest of events, and one of the most powerful. Only a mortal can wield it, because its power is so great. Only the strongest Sidhe can hold it for more than an instant. It is a great weapon, one we have safeguarded for centuries to prevent its power from falling into the wrong mortal hands. And now, with the High Code, the Queen must have thought it safer to bring a fendhionne, one strong enough to pass through the Gate and yet with enough mortal blood to wield the Sword. ”

“It’s like…an atomic bomb for Sidhe,” I said. Most of the group looked at me in puzzlement, but Bren and Ramel’s faces remained grave.

“Let’s not speak of that here,” Bren said. “The thought of it saddens me.”

“Bren,” Ramel explained to me as Donovan and Emery began discussing archery, “is studying under the Chief Scholar of Mortal History. She’s his most promising student, and someday she will probably be Chief Scholar, or even Advisor to the Queen herself.”

I nodded, trying to process all this information. I finished eating, and sat listening to the conversation until the good food and the tiredness from sword practice combined to make me profoundly sleepy. Ramel noticed my desperate attempts to keep my focus on the conversation, and said smoothly, “Well, I must escort my charge back to her quarters. One of the Scholars will be arriving there soon to tutor her.”

Bren made a face. “Just make sure she doesn’t get Ulrich. He’s a nasty old stick-in-the-mud.”

“Bren,” chided Guinna, “must you always talk as though you were only two hundred again?”

“Three hundred is the new two hundred,” replied Bren. She looked at me. “Don’t they have a saying like that in your world? Did I get it right?”

“Ah,” I said, “well, it’s something like that.”

Bren smiled happily, clearly pleased. “Good.”

Ramel guided me away from the table after I had said my goodbyes to my new acquaintances.

“Bren is three hundred?” I asked in an incredulous whisper as we walked away.

“Our time doesn’t work as your time does,” said Ramel, smiling at my wonderment. “But yes, she’s about three hundred. Our age of majority is two hundred fifty of our years, but really a Sidhe is still considered very young until about three hundred.”

I glanced at Ramel. “How old are you?”

“Three hundred twenty four.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Then say nothing.” Ramel smiled at me. “Just another difference between our world and yours. It isn’t something that is meant to be understood.” He motioned. “Your new quarters are just ahead.”

We reached my door and Ramel made a little bow. “Were you serious about a Scholar coming to teach me?” I asked suspiciously.

“No,” Ramel laughed. “But I could try to find one, if you would like.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “I want to learn as much as I can while I’m here.” I tried to copy the face Bren had made at the table. “Just not Ulrich. Apparently he’s a nasty stick-in-the-mud.”

Ramel laughed. “Well, I shall come fetch you for the evening meal then, my pretty mortal. Just wait until you are at table in the Great Hall! You’ll create quite a stir!”

“Fabulous,” I said dryly. “I can’t wait.”

With a last grin, Ramel showed me how to open my door and then left. I walked into my new room, unbuckling my sword-belt with one hand. Setting my sword against the side of the wardrobe, I let myself fall onto the soft bed, sliding into sleep almost instantly.

Chapter 11

I awoke to a soft knock on my door. Sitting up, I grimaced as I realized I’d fallen asleep in my clothes and tried to shake the wrinkles out of my tunic as I swung my legs out of the bed. With my arm situated securely in its sling again, I swiped at my hair with my left hand. I opened the door to find Bren standing outside. I must have looked surprised, because she said, “Ramel thought it might be better for me to come and see that you’re situated in your room, that you have everything you need.”

I stepped aside and motioned for her to come into the room.

“How are you feeling?” she asked me. I noticed that she was wearing a different outfit than earlier—no leggings and tunic now, but a long flowing dress with full sleeves belted at the waist with what looked like woven silver.

“Better than when I first arrived,” I said truthfully.

“There are many rumors about how you arrived here,” Bren said.

“Oh?” I said, trying not to betray my curiosity.

“I’m supposed to help you get dressed for the celebration tonight.” Bren perched on the edge of my bed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And I will. But first, I have a question for you, if it’s all right.”

I smiled a little. “I don’t see anything wrong with a few questions.”

“I’m sorry, everyone always tells me I’m such a gossip and I know it’s not polite…but…is it true that the Vaelanbrigh carried you here in his arms?”

I shrugged, trying to remain aloof at the mention of Finnead. My body had other plans though, a current of white-hot heat racing through my belly as the image of his face as it had looked when he leaned over me in the Texas dirt rising unbidden in my mind’s- eye. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Interesting,” Bren said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Why is that so interesting?” I asked.

“Oh,” replied Bren, “it’s just that….the Vaelanbrigh is famous for his aloofness.”

“Just because he carried me doesn’t mean he wasn’t aloof,” I said.

“No,” Bren said, “you misunderstand. He has been, since the Queen knighted him—not since he took up the Brighbranr, but before that, when he was an ordinary knight—he has never been seen to touch another soul except out of courtesy or extreme necessity. Not one of the Fae, not another mortal.”

I frowned. “But…my situation was a necessity.”

“Why would it have been necessary?” Bren shook her head. “The Vaelanbrigh risked his title and his life to save you. It was not necessary.”

“But…” I stopped and looked at her, confused. Then, from somewhere, a small bloom of anger warmed my chest. Finnead had taken all the credit for killing the garrelnost. If I hadn’t stepped in…I remembered the glistening foul claws of the beast and suppressed a shudder.

Bren cleared her throat. “Let’s get you dressed for meal, shall we?”

I opened my mouth to tell her that I had killed the garrelnost—or mostly, anyway—but then closed it again, a thread of doubt tugging at my mind. Finnead had carried me with infinite care, and I remembered the gentleness of his hands as he had examined my arm. Was there a reason he hadn’t told anyone of my part in the death of the hideous beast? A thought wriggled in the back of my mind. I allowed it to surface, and I remembered what Finnead had said to me through the haze of pain as he’d carried me to Darkhill. Something about not telling anyone that I knew about iron, that it was dangerous for mortals who knew the Sidhe’s weaknesses. I closed my mouth. That settled it, then. Although it rankled me, I was happy to let Finnead take all the credit if that would mean less trouble.

While I had been thinking, Bren had walked over to my wardrobe and opened it. “Good. They’ve given you a whole set of suitable clothes.” She pulled out a deep green dress. “This will set off your eyes nicely. It is always to one’s benefit to make a good first impression.”

“By good, you mean pretty?” I asked dryly.

Bren laughed. “I’ve read about mortal sarcasm, but I’ve never quite understood it until now.” She held out the dress to me. “I can’t wait to tell Egbert about my conversations with you.”

“Egbert?” I struggled not to laugh at the name.

“The Chief Scholar,” Bren said, sifting through more of my wardrobe’s contents. She motioned to the dress with one hand. “Put that on and I’ll find a belt and shoes for you. Then I have to fix your hair.”

I touched my hair with one hand, finding that the pins were indeed coming out. I decided not to let self-consciousness get the better of me, so I stripped down to my underwear, sliding the green dress on over my head and carefully pulling my injured arm through the sleeve. After rearranging the sling, I stood and waited for Bren to finish her perusal of the wardrobe. She turned with a belt in her hands, one of black leather with a design wrought in silver on the edges. I took it and buckled it around my waist; Bren adjusted it for me—apparently the Sidhe women actually wanted larger hips, so they put the belt low instead of cinching it at the waist. She handed me silver slippers and I slid them onto my feet, finding without surprise that they fit perfectly.

Bren sighed—with envy? I couldn’t quite believe that a woman who could pass for a marble Renaissance carving would be envious of me. “You’re much…curvier than any of us.” She slid me half a grin. “You’ll have to be careful. Stick close to me, if you want.”

“Careful of what?” I blinked.

Bren laughed, a sound that rose in the air like bells ringing. “Careful of the younger men at Court. You know,” she said slyly, “Ronan was quite taken with you.”

I thought of Ronan and his vibrantly green eyes, his mahogany-dark hair and teasing laugh. He was certainly handsome. “I don’t want any trouble,” I said honestly.

“Oh, my dear, it’s no trouble,” said Bren, her voice almost a purr. “You see, the High Code was set down before we were born—nearly five hundred years ago. The older ones, they remember mortal lovers. We don’t, so nearly every young Sidhe of the male persuasion is…intensely curious.”

I felt my cheeks flaming. “Well, I don’t intend to let any of them satisfy their curiosity,” I said firmly, proud that my voice didn’t waver.

Bren laughed again. “Trust me, they can be very persuasive.”

I shrugged. “I’m a stubborn mortal.”

Bren shook her head, and cocked it to one side, that curious gleam lighting up her eyes again. “You’re not thinking about a certain Knight, are you?”

“If you mean the Vaelanbrigh,” I said smoothly, “then no. Why would I? He shows me no more attention than he would a….a piece of furniture.” I resolutely refused to meet Bren’s gaze, focusing instead on rearranging my sling. I hoped she didn’t see the slight tremor in my hands, or that I was biting the inside of my lip.

After a moment, Bren said, “Well, let me fix your hair before we go to meal.”

I obediently sat on the edge of the bed and Bren knelt behind me. Her deft fingers rearranged pins, tucking strands here and there, so lightning-fast and light that I barely felt it. She hummed a sweet melody to herself as she worked. I liked her more for it, and the soothing sound helped me relax. I found that I had tensed during our conversation. The idea of a Sidhe lover…one of the handsome young men with Adonis-like faces and shimmering hair…the idea did make me go weak at the knees. But it was a weakness that I didn’t like. The thought of being looked upon as a rare sort of delicacy, to be tried for the satisfaction of raw curiosity, made me very uncomfortable. I told myself that I would stick close to Bren, and if I saw Finnead I would ask him about his version of the garrelnost’s death that those in the Court had heard, if I was really in the danger he had told me from knowing about iron. No more than that, no less.

“All right,” Bren said, slipping off the bed gracefully, “let’s be on our way. We wouldn’t want to be late to your first event in the Great Hall.”

I followed Bren out the door. “Is there something special about tonight, that everyone is eating in the Great Hall? Or do you do that every night?”

“The Queen is celebrating the successful return of the Vaelanbrigh,” replied Bren. “It was a high task she set him, and he succeeded.”

“A party in honor of Finnead,” I said. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he loves.”

“He doesn’t enjoy celebrations in his honor, for the most part,” said Bren. Then she looked at me. “Oh. Mortal sarcasm. I apologize, I am still learning to sense when you’re not being serious.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you ever joke around? Or is it always business around here?”

“We haven’t had much reason to joke, as you say, lately,” Bren replied.

“It has to do with the war, doesn’t it?” I said, remembering our conversation with Glira. It seemed ages ago, the meadow on Crownhill and the chocolate bar melting slightly in the sunlight.

Bren stopped suddenly and turned toward me, eyes blazing. “Do not say anything more about that.” She took a deep breath. “For the purposes of tonight, you must be a pretty, harmless mortal. Do not test the boundaries of the Queen’s patience.” Her eyes bored into mine. “The Vaelanbrigh risked your life as well, bringing you here. You need to remember that, and watch your words.”

I closed my mouth. Bren held my gaze for another long moment, and then turned, motioning for me to follow her again. The hallway widened as we went, and we passed through a courtyard paved with smooth white stones, a large tree towering in the middle of it. Bren led me to a large door on the other side, and then through a succession of antechambers. “We’re not using the main entrance,” she said. “Ramel thought it best if you made your entrance unobtrusively.”

“Fine with me,” I said. Bren stepped forward and I went to follow her.

Then I heard the sound of bells, coming from the opposite direction that we had just traveled. I turned toward the sound, it was so lovely and silver—much like the silver sound that had engulfed me crossing through the Gate, but this sound was gentler, more beautiful in its subtlety. It fell like a veil over my senses, intoxicating and soothing. I wanted more than anything to hear those bells for eternity. Some part of me realized that I was bewitched by the sound, and I tried to fight it, but it was a very small part of me, and the bells were so very beautiful…I took a step forward, and then I heard Bren curse. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her grab for my arm, except I had turned so that she was by my right side, and her hand closed on my right forearm. The pain bursting from my arm brought me sharply back to reality, and I heard myself gasp. I heard a stream of words from Bren, low and urgent, “Come on, those are the Queen’s bells and by the Great Gate if she catches you here—if she sees you before she’s sent for you—”

Bren turned me roughly and grabbed my other arm, pulling me hard toward the door. The pain from my arm made me dizzy, and I didn’t see the small stone step before the door. My foot caught and I landed on my knees, hard. Bren swore again, this time almost frantically, then the sound of the bells caught hold of me and my knees buckled as I felt my mind swelling with the silver sound. Bren hauled me bodily to my feet, her slim pale hands supernaturally strong. The bells rolled over me like a tide. I realized we were standing still, backs to the door, and Bren was very pale, paler than she had been even though I thought that impossible. She went very still, except for her hand gripping my left arm, holding me up. With an effort I got my feet under me just as a small group of Sidhe rounded the corner of the passageway, walking through the ebb and flow of the bell-sounds.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the woman walking in the center of the party. Her pale skin shone, the glow that I had only seen in brief flashes in the other Sidhe manifesting in full force in her proud features. I couldn’t fix the memory of her face in my head—it was like a shooting star, or a sunset, or starlight on the waves of the ocean, something constantly changing and achingly beautiful. On her brow sat a silver circlet, set with a single gem that I would have sworn was a star, pulsing softly. Her night-dark hair flowed down her back and over her shoulders. She wore a silver dress that could have been spun out of moonbeams, and on the hems of her sleeves and the edges of the gown’s train, there were small silver bells, sparkling even in the dim light of the hallway. And with a jolt I saw that walking beside the beautiful woman—the Queen, I knew without a doubt—wearing a silver vest that matched her gown and a gleaming black scabbard at his side, was Finnead.

I felt Bren pull on my arm, and I saw that she had sunk into a low curtsey, head bowed. The sound of the Queen’s bells flowed around me, pulling here and there at my mind like the current of a cold stream. I sank into what I thought could pass for a curtsey, hearing my own breath loud in my ears as I bowed my head and stared at the flagstones of the floor. Bren’s grip on my arm kept me anchored to reality, counterpoint to the silver bells.

Then the sound of bells faded, and a beautiful, terrible voice spoke. It was like hearing wolves howling and cold harsh rain and the soft chords of a harp, all at once, an intricate balance of exquisite loveliness and wild danger. “So here is the mortal you would have given your title and your head to save, my Knight.”

The Queen’s voice hurt my ears. Finnead made no reply. My legs began to tremble. Bren’s grip on my arm tightened. I kept my eyes on the floor, not daring to even glance up, pushing down the fear that suddenly clogged my throat, goose-bumps racing up and down my arms.

The Queen said something in a low voice to one of the other Sidhe in her party—her attendants, courtiers, I realized. I heard light footsteps, and a hand on my good arm. “The Queen wishes to look into your eyes,” I heard a familiar voice say in my ear. I raised my eyes a little and saw Guinna, her beautiful face serene except for her eyes. Her gaze held a spark of concern, almost worry—worry?—for me. Bren released my arm and I stood, wavering a little. Guinna, her head just barely reaching past my shoulder, kept a firm hold on my arm. I kept my eyes downcast as Guinna led me forward, struggling to keep my breathing even and my step steady.

“Look up,” Guinna said in a low voice. “And do not flinch.”

Fear turned my limbs to ice. I suddenly knew that I couldn’t have moved even if I had wanted; I was frozen in place, and it was terrifying. The beautiful, soft-spoken Queen frightened me more thoroughly than the garrelnost, more than passing through the Gate when I thought I was dying. At least then I’d had Finnead’s gentle arms around me. I looked at him for a desperate instant—and to my surprise he was looking back at me, his blue eyes intense with an emotion I couldn’t immediately place. I saw him take half a step forward, and one of the other men behind him—a tall fellow with long dark hair—put a hand on his elbow. Finnead clenched his jaw and stood his ground as the Queen glided forward. I raised my chin a little as Guinna stepped away, breaking eye contact with Finnead and taking a deep breath.

I focused my gaze on the Queen’s crown. She was only a fraction taller than me. I could have reached out and touched her, but every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, to put as much distance between me and this beautiful, perilous woman as possible. I clenched my good hand into a fist resolutely.

“We almost beheaded our favorite Knight,” said Mab in her soft silvery voice, “because he deemed it proper to save you.” She slowly raised one pale hand. “We must see, then, if his judgment was sound.”

She slid her fingers under my chin, holding my jaw with her thumb and forefinger. I couldn’t help the small sound of pain that escaped my clenched teeth: an icy-hot agony bloomed where the Queen’s skin touched mine. I resisted every instinct to jerk back.

“Do you know who we are?” asked Mab softly, her thumb tracing a sensual circle on the softest part of my neck.

“The Queen,” I said breathily, “of the Unseelie Court.”

“Our word,” continued the Queen, “is life and death. Prepare thyself, young mortal.”

Mab’s switch to archaic English somehow struck another chord of fear in me, bringing visions of medieval fire and brimstone, witches burning at the stake. Her grip tightened as she brought my chin up, forcing me to meet her gaze.

I tried my best not to scream. I didn’t know if I succeeded. Mab’s silver gaze pierced me like a bullet, and then I was swallowed by her eyes and the physical pain was the least of my worries. Razor-sharp claws raked over my soul, tearing at the most tender parts of me, ripping at my most intimate and cherished memories. I tried hard not to let her see my part in the death of the garrelnost, or my thoughts of Finnead. I felt the Unseelie Queen within me, her presence alien, her beauty stripped away, leaving only the most dangerous parts of her as she wended her way through my innermost being. Dimly I heard gasping, choking noises, laced with little bubbling sounds of pain.

Fatherless mortal, said Mab in my head, you are such an uncertain young thing—and yet…there is something…

I desperately drew up my last reserves of strength, putting everything I had into shielding my memories of the battle with the garrelnost. A burst of pain exploded in my skull as she tried to break my last defenses. I bent all my will at turning her gaze away…and then I thought faintly through the pain that perhaps building a wall wasn’t the best way to defend my memories—perhaps I could just make her slide around them. So I concentrated on my memory of Finnead plunging his sword into the hideous beast, pushing it to the front of my mind. I carefully encapsulated my part in its death, smoothing it over like a river-rock, compressing the memory until it sat, small and hard, in the very back of my mind. The Queen’s touch flowed over it, catching the image of Finnead instead.

I dimly felt Mab’s surprise before she pulled her hand away, turning her eyes from me, leaving me gasping. The whole ordeal had lasted less than two or three minutes, but I felt as though I had just run a marathon, sweat sliding down my back beneath the green gown, my right arm throbbing gently in its sling as I tried to catch my breath. Bren was at my side again.

“Vaelanbrigh,” said Mab, her beautiful voice sending shivers down my spine.

“My lady,” said Finnead in a tight voice, bowing slightly.

“Pray tell, why did you omit the most interesting piece of your journey in Doendhtalam?” Her voice, now soft rather than commanding, sounded much more dangerous.

“My lady?” Finnead looked up at the Queen impassively. Dread soured my stomach.

“Not only do you bring a mortal here, breaking the High Code,” said Mab, the star in her crown pulsing softly as she spoke, “you failed to tell us that you had slain a creature of the Deadlands.”

All the Sidhe went very still. The Deadlands? I felt a small bloom of hope that I had succeeded in shielding the most important part of the battle with the beast.

“And,” continued the Lady of the Dark Court, “this young human’s presence seems to serve no purpose. You have revealed our presence unduly.”

I took a shaky breath. I’d succeeded in keeping the most important memory I had from the Queen of the Unseelie Court. I figured now I had to convince her that I was worth something. “That’s not true,” I said. The Queen turned her eyes sharply to me. “Your Majesty.”

“Not only a useless mortal,” purred Queen Mab, her silver eyes alight again, “but an impudent one.”

I almost laughed, that the Queen of the Unseelie court had used the same words as little Glira to describe me. I must just have that effect on people, I thought with rueful amusement. I was pretty sure Guinna’s grip on my arm would leave bruises. Nothing for it now. “With all due respect, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice gathering strength as I spoke, “I would have found a way to follow Molly here anyway.” All the Sidhe were listening to me now. I took another deep breath. “She’s my best friend.” I tried to think in terms they would understand. “We are as blood. Like sisters. I couldn’t let her come here alone.”

I might have been imagining things, but I thought I saw a minute change come over the Queen’s cold features at the mention of sisters.

“Your Majesty,” said the long-haired man behind Finnead, “if I may.”

“Speak, Vaelanmavar,” the Queen said, still facing me.

“The Vaelanmavar,” said Bren softly into my ear, “is another of the named Knights. He bears the Mavarbranr, the Dark Sword.”

The Vaelanmavar stepped forward and made an elegant bow. “My lady, even though the Vaelanbrigh broke the High Code in bringing this mortal here, perhaps we can find a use for her.”

I disliked being talked about like a horse up for auction, but I decided it would probably be in my best interests to keep my silence now and let the Knights deal with the Queen…although I wasn’t quite sure if the Vaelanmavar was on my side, by the way his lips curved in a small, insidious smile as he gazed at me.

“By all rights,” continued the Vaelanmavar, “her blood should water the Dark Tree in five minutes’ time. But, if she displeases Your Majesty in the future, it is just as easily done.”

I saw Finnead’s white-knuckled grip on his sword-hilt. My heart beat so hard I thought the Sidhe could probably hear it. Guinna moved beside Finnead, her delicate fingers resting on his shoulder. She said something very quietly into his ear, but he kept his hand on his sword-hilt.

Queen Mab regarded me silently for a moment. I carefully avoided her gaze.

“Though it is against the High Code,” she said finally, “I am the Queen, and thus my word is law.”

As if this was a cue, all the Sidhe bowed their heads. Except Finnead, who gazed at me with that same expression: his handsome face smooth and unreadable, his eyes tumultuous.

“The mortal Tess O’Connor will remain here until she has rendered such services as may deem her worthy in our eyes,” Mab said. After another moment, she finally turned away from me. “Let us go to table.”

I heard Bren breathe a sigh of relief. I closed my eyes as the silver bells swept over me again, the sound now inciting a feeling of dread rather than detached, dreamy intoxication. When the bells had faded, I opened my eyes again. The Queen and her attendants were gone.

“Come on,” said Bren, not unkindly. “Let’s get you to a seat.”

It took a moment for me to move. Bren patiently kept her hand on my arm until she was sure I was steady enough on my feet to walk on my own.

“So,” I croaked, “what was all that?”

Bren opened the door, golden light spilling out into the hallway. “That was the Queen of the Dark Court testing you, deciding whether to kill you or let you live.”

“I’m guessing I passed?” I said scratchily.

“With conditions,” Bren said over her shoulder. She paused for a moment and then said, “Let’s not speak of that anymore right now. Enjoy the celebration.”

We stood at the edge of a vast chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Windows ran down the length of the hall, much as they had in the gymnasium, except these were nearly three times my height, and almost twice my height across. The hall reminded me of the glossy prints of Gothic cathedrals I had seen in art books. Small orbs floated here and there with no apparent support, no chain or string that I could see. Each held a red-wax candle, and the bubble-like orbs, glistening softly in their own light, drifted in small groups above the heads of the gathered Sidhe. Dark blue banners hung from the walls, a silver shield embroidered on each long cloth. On the shield there was a spreading tree, and star above the tree. I vaguely remembered the spreading tree from the seal on Molly’s letter.

“That is the device of the Vaelanbrigh,” explained Bren. “His color is blue, and that is his shield.”

I tried to take in the grand scale of the hall, the time it must have taken to decorate it so lavishly. “It’s so…extravagant.”

Bren nodded. “That is the way of the Queen. She is dangerous, but rewards those who serve her well.”

I shivered. “And I suppose that includes me, now.”

“Yes. Either you serve her well, or you will die.” Bren shook her head. “I’m sorry if that sounded harsh.”

“It’s all right,” I said as we came to our seats, which were thankfully a good distance away from the raised dais at the front of the hall. “I just…need a few minutes to absorb it all.”

I was relieved and pleased to find that Ronan and Emery were sitting at our table, which was mostly comprised of young Sidhe close in age to Bren and her friends. Silver cups filled with a dark-red liquid sat at every chair, and for a horrible moment I thought it might be blood—but then I smelled it and found that it was definitely some type of wine. Ronan and Emery had plainly been at the table for a while already, indulging in the heady drink, for they greeted me enthusiastically, with much more animation than I had seen in them at lunch.

“Well, look,” said Ronan triumphantly to the table beside us, “we have the doendhine at our table! Didn’t I tell you!” And one of the other young Sidhe grumbled, pressing a gold coin into Ronan’s open palm.

“If I helped you win a bet, I should get part of the profits,” I said teasingly to Ronan, eager to push the ordeal with Mab to the back of my mind.

“She’s a savvy little thing!” exclaimed Ronan, his pale cheeks flushed slightly.

“Fiery,” agreed Emery, observing me with his slate-gray eyes. I grinned at them both.

“We,” said Ronan, gesturing grandly with one hand, “were just talking about you, actually.”

“I would have never guessed,” I said in a mock-serious tone. Bren chuckled beside me.

“Is it true, in the mortal world, that you have perfected machine-horses, like the mighty Vaelanbrigh tells us?” asked Emery, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table.

“If you mean motorcycles, then yes,” I said. “The Vaelanbrigh does ride one, when he’s in our world.”

Bren sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for permission to go on a cultural expedition. It’s not fair really,” she said, putting down the cup that she had already drained, “that the Knights get to have all the adventures in your world. I know all about it, I’ve even taught some lessons to the Knights, but I don’t have permission to go through the Gates.”

I watched in fascination as Bren’s cup refilled itself, the wine flowing from the edges of the cup inward, like a reverse water-fountain.

“Now Bren,” said Ronan, “don’t go spoiling everything by complaining!”

I expected Bren to get a bit angry at Ronan, but instead she laughed. I looked down at my cup, shrugged and took a big swallow. To my chagrin, it burned going down my throat, worse than any liquor I’d ever drunk. I started coughing, much to the amusement of Ronan and Emery, and Bren had to clap me on the back. Then I noticed a delicious feeling of warmth and contentment spreading from my belly. Steeling myself, I took another, smaller swallow, and the table applauded raucously when I didn’t cough. I grinned and saluted them with my cup. Ronan raised his too.

“To Tess, a mortal who can hold her vinaess,” he said loudly.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” said Emery as he raised his cup for the toast. The table laughed, and we all took a swallow. Bren set about introducing me to all the young Sidhe at the table, each of which seemed more eager than the last to meet me. I felt like a celebrity…and I let myself push Mab’s pronouncement into the back of my head, trying to forget the feel of her invisible claws on my soul amid the laughter of the younger generation of the Unseelie Court.

Chapter 12

The celebration lasted long into the night, the red-wax candles in their glittering orbs burning down into molten pools of scarlet. At one point, I glimpsed Molly, sitting beside Finnead up on the dais. She wore a vibrant blue gown, silver ribbons woven into her hair. She looked beautiful; but her face was pale, her lips tight and unhappy. A spark of concern flared briefly in my mind, and I even thought of walking up to the dais, to make sure she was all right. But the sore spots on my jaw where the Queen had gripped me still stung, and I settled back into my chair, listening to the lively conversation between Ronan and Emery. I’d stopped drinking a few hours before, after a few cups of the vinaess had set my head to spinning. From what I saw, the Sidhe could definitely hold their drink—Ronan and Emery, while they were both a bit more animated than usual, were still coherent and making intelligent conversation. I was pretty certain I would have been under the table if I’d taken advantage of the never-empty cup to its fullest extent. Instead I sampled all the delicious, strange foods on the table, tasting small bits of one and then another until I was satisfied.

“I say we tip our arrows, and see if that kills them,” said Ronan.

“Tipping arrows,” replied Emery coolly, “is against the High Code.”

“Well, they haven’t really displayed any qualms about using it on us,” Ronan said heatedly, his eyes flashing.

“To lower ourselves to their level would be less than honorable,” contended Emery, taking a slow sip from his goblet.

“Is it more honorable to stand by and watch more die?” Ronan growled.

“The Knights and the Guards know full well their duty,” said Emery, his voice deadly soft against Ronan’s heated tone.

“Who are they talking about?” I said in an aside to Ramel, who was sitting and listening intensely to the conversation. He had been jovial and in a good humor, until Ronan and Emery had started the discussion of these mysterious enemies.

“The Knights of the Court,” said Ramel, “and the lesser knights, of course, swear their full loyalty to the Queen. They dealt much in mortal affairs, in the old days before the Code, so they do not swear by the Code, even though they are duty-bound to obey it. The Queen’s Guards are much the same, but the Guards are also bound to uphold the High Code at any cost.” He looked at me gravely. “Which is why Finnead didn’t lose his head, after bringing you here. The Knights came before the Code. He called upon the old loyalties.”

I thought about my next words carefully. “Is it true a Knight is duty-bound to repay any debt, so that he can be fully loyal to the Queen?”

Ramel nodded. “Loyalties cannot be halved, or quartered, not when lives are at stake.” He gestured to Ronan and Emery, whose conversation slowly edged toward true argument. “Ronan is a knight, and Emery a Guard. There are some…disagreements sometimes.”

I turned by attention back to Ronan and Emery as their voices rose sharply.

“Just because the Guards are bound to the Lady’s Keep does not make us any less worthy of respect,” Emery said, his face deadly pale, his gray eyes shining.

“And just because the Guards are bound to the Lady’s Keep, they think they may pass judgment on the knights who defend the rest of the Lady’s realm,” replied Ronan, green eyes blazing like witch-fire. “When the creatures from the Deadlands attack the Keep itself, perhaps then you will listen to us!”

“If the knights perform their duty then the creatures will never reach Darkhill,” argued Emery.

“Emery,” said Ramel, his voice reprimanding.

“Peace, brothers!” thundered Donovan at the same time.

The table fell silent.

“Tonight,” Donovan said, “is supposed to be a celebration.”

I sat quietly, barely daring to breathe, willing them to keep talking.

“Well,” Bren said softly, her beautiful face uncharacteristically grave, “it is hard to be merry when there is little to truly celebrate.”

“We are celebrating the Vaelanbrigh’s return with the fendhionne from the mortal world,” Donovan said, but he sounded so much like an actor reciting a particularly bad script that even I didn’t believe him.

“Why isn’t there anything to celebrate?” I asked quietly, meaning for my question to be heard only by Ramel, but the sudden lull in conversation allowed the whole table to hear. Ramel sat silently, his face uncharacteristically grave. “Ramel,” I prodded, frowning at the sudden pall cast over the mood. “Does it have to do with…the Deadlands?”

I felt the eyes of all the Sidhe seated at the table fasten upon me. Ramel, too, turned his gaze on me, hot with the Fae-fire.

“Where did you hear that?” Bren asked softly from across the table, her mellifluous voice pitched low—so that others would not overhear, I realized.

“The Queen,” I whispered. “She…said that Finnead had not reported to her that he’d slain a creature from the Deadlands.”

Bren paled. “He said he killed a dreadful beast…but not a Deadland creature.”

“It was a garrelnost,” I said.

“No,” Ronan said, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Tess. There’s garrelnosts, as there has always been…and then there’s garrelnosts bred in darkness and fed on death. They’re much stronger, much more terrible.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m sorry I didn’t know the difference.” I gave Ronan a small, deadly sweet smile. “You’re right. I don’t understand, because no one will explain to me what’s actually going on.”

“You are not even supposed to be here,” Emery pointed out in his cool, logical way. I caught his gaze and held it, trying to transmit every bit of anger and confusion roiling within me into my eyes. He didn’t look away, but the expression on his face changed from aloof to considering.

“Maybe I’m not supposed to be here,” I said hotly, “but I’m here now, and apparently I’m stuck here until I can pull off some superhero stunt that’ll make Mab smile. Because as it is, Emery, she was peachy-keen on killing me, and I’d rather not be killed in a world that’s not my own for a reason that I know nothing about.”

Emery inclined his head slightly, still holding my gaze. “You make a valid point, doendhine.”

“Goddamn it, my name is Tess,” I snapped. And then I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “You know,” I said. “This whole stiff-upper-lip business, it should really stop if you want me to try and help you.” I shook my head. “It’s like you’re under siege, on the losing side of a war, but no one wants to admit the damages.” I gestured with my good hand for emphasis. “I mean, you can put up facades on the burnt-out buildings so that it still looks like everything’s all right. And I’m guessing that’s what this is.” My sweeping arm encompassed the whole Great Hall, the celebration with the floating candles and banners and never-empty cups. “It’s all a goddamn façade, because apparently you’re all falling apart on the inside, bad enough to scare the Queen into mind-strafing me—”

Bren cleared her throat lightly. “Tess,” she interrupted gently but firmly.

“What?” I turned my blazing eyes on her but she didn’t flinch.

“If you are trying to make a point,” Bren said, “it is made, and made very…emphatically. But I do not think anyone, myself and perhaps Ramel excluded, understands your cultural references to Sionntalam.”

I folded my arms and sat back again. “Then you explain. I don’t know how.” I shrugged, suddenly feeling very deflated. “I just want to know what’s going on, Bren. I’ve been thrown into this…I mean, I came here because of Molly…but I want to help as best I can. I don’t want to be useless.”

“That is understandable,” Donovan said in his deep, calm voice. He looked up and down the table, meeting eyes with each Sidhe in turn. Then he glanced about, making sure that the tables nearest us were still engaged in their own raucous conversations. Then he nodded to Ronan. “What do you think, Ronan?”

“Let us tell the tale to Tess,” Ronan said. “She knows nothing about the shutting of the Great Gate, or the Deadlands…or Malravenar.”

“Please let’s not say that name at this table,” Bren said, her voice shaking. I felt a chill at the fear in her voice.

“It needs to be said, and I will say it aloud as many times as I like,” Ronan replied to her. “Cowering in fear is no way to live.”

“I am not cowering in fear, Ronan Rowanshield,” snapped Bren, her voice taut as she rose slightly from her seat, “but there’s no need to frighten Tess with bedtime stories and nightmares.” Ramel put a hand on her arm, and after a moment Bren sat back in her chair.

“She is bound here until the Queen releases her,” Ronan pointed out.

I waited. Ronan looked at Bren, who looked away; and then he glanced at Ramel, who nodded.

“Emery?” Ronan said. “You’re a better teller of the tale than I.”

Emery inclined his head. “When shall I start the tale? From the shutting of the Great Gate?” he asked the table at large.

Before I properly thought about it, I said, “The Great Gate was shut after the Iron Sword was lost.”

Ramel grinned at the looks from the other Sidhe at the table. “She may be a mortal and a pretty thing, but she’s got a sharp mind.”

“You all talked about it a bit at table this afternoon,” I reminded them.

“So we did,” Emery agreed, glancing at Bren. “But I shall elaborate, if you don’t mind.”

I smiled. “I’m eager to hear it.” I took a sip from my cup to encourage him, listening attentively.

Emery sat up a little straighter, placed his hands before him on the table, and the rest of the group settled back into their chairs, ready for his story. “After the loss of the Iron Sword, and the discord between the Queen of the Bright Court and our own Dark Lady—” he inclined his head gracefully—“it came to the attention of the Knights at that time that a plague had come upon the lands to the west of the Dark Court’s domain, at the edges of the Edhyre Mountains. As this was the border of the Dark Queen’s power, the place where her domain mingled with the dominion of the Bright Court, neither Lady possessed enough power singly to overcome the sickness killing the lands. And the Great Gate, the fabled portal which drew so many mortal dreamers into our fair realm, stood at the center of the troubled lands.”

“Mortal dreamers,” sighed Bren with a far-away look in her eyes. “I’ve read about them. Poets and artists…and some warriors too, Tess. War-fighting is its own art, in a way.”

I wondered why Bren looked at me so emphatically when she talked of warriors.

“Ah, to have been alive before the Code,” said Ramel longingly. “Such nubile young mortal women, all curves and rosy cheeks and—“

“Ramel,” I said. “Please.”

He glanced at me and grinned. “I only speak the truth, fair one.”

I shook my head as his eyes twinkled. Emery waited patiently.

“At first,” continued Emery after the side conversation died into silence, “the Gate’s own power was enough, the wards and seals upon it so great that it stood unaffected by the blackness that killed every living being it touched. But then, as the plague grew and spread, the Great Gate, too, became infested with the sickness. It was not,” he said to me, glimpsing my questioning look, “a sickness of the body. It was more a sickness of the soul that sapped all the will to live from its host, and grew and fed on death. Then the pestilence began to seep into the Gate, and no power could stop it. It began to travel in the veins of Faeortalam itself, the flows of taebramh. And it began to poison the dreams of your world, gaining a foothold among mortal minds.”

“That was a dark time,” said Bren in a low voice.

“The Queens came together for the last time,” said Emery, “each with her three Knights with drawn swords by her side, and they bore the perils of the poisoned land to seal the Great Gate.” Emery paused. “They sealed the Gate with such power that only one thing in this world or the other could open it again.”

“The Iron Sword,” I said.

Emery nodded. “And the Iron Sword can do other, terrible things: sever the soul from the body, bend men’s minds, take life with just a thought of the bearer.”

I shivered to think that one person could wield so much power.

“It was once used for good,” Emery continued. “Once it was the foundation of the accords between Doendhtalam and the two Queens. But it was lost by the last Bearer, and the Great Gate was sealed, and even now the lands that were afflicted by the old soul-sickness still lie blackened under the moon, breathing poisonous mists into the night. It harbors creatures foul and twisted, creatures which otherwise would have no hold in Faeortalam.”

“Like the garrelnost,” I said.

Emery nodded. “Those lands are called the Deadlands, and it is peril to journey through them.”

“And…Malravenar?” As I said the name, I saw Bren flinch slightly. Names have power, for good or ill, in the world of the Fae, I remembered.

“He is an Enemy of the Courts,” Emery said softly. “Some think it was he that created the plague of old. We do not know for certain, or perhaps the Queen knows and she does not say, as is her right. But he is a very old and very strong Enemy, and like the plague he feeds on fear and death.” Emery locked eyes with Ronan. “Which is why we should not fear him, though he is a great and perilous foe.”

Ronan nodded, and Bren made a sound in her throat that might have been a snort as she drank a few swallows from her cup.

“The Enemy…” Ramel cleared his throat. “Malravenar, it is said, has been breeding creatures of shadow in the Deadlands. Some even say he is raising an army of the Dead.”

“Foolish talk,” said Donovan in his firm way.

“Who knows what is foolish and what is not,” replied Ramel. “But there have been three knights killed in the past fortnight alone, with the Vaelanseld himself barely victorious in the last skirmish.”

“Vaelanbrigh, Vaelanmaver and Vaelanseld,” I said. “Those are all the Named Knights?”

“Yes,” said Ronan. “The Vaelanseld bears the Eldbranr, the Ancient Sword. He is the oldest of the three Knights, and it is said that the Eldbranr was forged in the same fire as the Iron Sword.”

“What is the name for the Iron Sword, in your language?” I asked.

Emery shook his head. “That is not for us to know. It is so old that its name is part of its power.”

I thought, putting all the pieces together in my head. “I’m guessing the Iron Sword is the only weapon that can kill this Malravenar?”

“We hope,” said Bren softly.

“But what we know is that the Enemy is searching for the Iron Sword,” said Ronan. “He is searching for it and when he finds it, he will twist it to his own dark purpose.”

“I have heard,” Donovan said slowly, carefully, “or at least this is the rumor in the barracks from those who have served in the Western Reaches, that he means to sever the bonds between Faeortalam and Sionntalam.”

I glanced around and saw the grimness written on the faces of every Sidhe at the table. “But how would he gain anything from that?”

“No dreams for mortals,” said Bren sadly. “No more taebramh…I think in Doendhtalam you call it magic.”

“Magic?” I repeated, frowning.

“It’s a simple word for a complex power, and one that has been used wrongly for many years in your world,” Emery clarified.

“And without a way to the mortal world, without a Bearer…none would be able to destroy Malravenar. He would hold our world in thrall,” added Ronan darkly. He took out a dagger from its sheath at his waist and balanced it on its point upon the table.

“The Iron Sword is powerful enough to do that?” I received no answer. The dismal silence twisted my heart. From what I had seen, the Sidhe were a proud, noble, valiant people—or most of them, anyway—and I could see what it cost them to admit their danger, especially to a young mortal. I actually thought of myself in those terms, I realized, with no surprise now.

“And so the Queen,” said Bren, “sent the Vaelanbrigh into the mortal world to find the half-mortal child. The Prophesied One.” She looked at me. “Both the Queen of the Bright Court and our Queen almost killed your friend, you know, before she was even born, to satisfy the High Code. But one of the Scholars found a prophecy, and stayed their hands, so they bound her Fae half and let her live in the mortal world.”

“She was marked for this her whole life?” I asked.

Bren shrugged. “Who can say what wisdoms lay in the old scrolls? Some might call it her destiny. In any case, she is here now, to bear the Iron Sword in the battle against Malravenar.” She saw my thoughts behind my eyes—Molly was still half-Fae. The power of the Iron Sword traveled through its Bearer, and the Sidhe could not be Bearer for a reason. Bren smiled sadly. “It will probably kill her, Tess,” she said gently. “We cannot even come within a few feet of it, when it is unsheathed, or so the legends say.”

“Why didn’t the Queen choose a mortal to do this?” I asked, feeling the furrow in my brow.

“Because, Tess,” Bren answered, “the Queens are bound by the Code as much as us, and they could not knowingly call a mortal, especially when mortals now have no loyalties to the Courts, and most do not even believe in Faeortalam except in their dreams.”

“Except in their dreams,” I repeated.

“And we do not know how far Malravenar’s reach has grown,” Bren continued. Her voice wavered a little when she said the Enemy’s name, but she raised her chin. “He has probably poisoned the dreams of mortals, so that even those are not safe anymore. Mortal minds are strong, but we cannot take a chance with the power of such a weapon.”

For a few minutes I stared into my silver cup, the sounds of the ongoing celebration flowing around our pocket of silence like a river flows around stones.

“It is much to think about,” Emery said with surprising gentleness, the cool aloofness leaving his voice for a moment.

I took a breath and cleared my throat. “It is. And I’m sure I’ll have questions…later, when I’ve thought it all through.” I looked up at them. “Thank you, for trusting me.”

“You passed the Queen’s test,” Emery said by way of explanation. “If you were unworthy, she would have killed you.”

I couldn’t help but smile wryly. “Always good to know that you have confidence in me, Emery.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Emery’s lips, and Ronan grinned.

“Now,” I said, “we can talk more about this later. But tell me,” I asked with a grin, “do you know any drinking games?”

Emery, Ronan and Donovan looked at me blankly. Bren’s eyes twinkled and Ramel grinned.

“All right then,” I said, “who’s got a coin? There’s a game called quarters that I think you ought to know…”

Chapter 13

An insistent booming roused me from a deep, dreamless sleep. With a groan I rolled over, realized with perplexity that I was somehow in a bed when I hadn’t remembered getting there from the celebration….Well, damn. It had been awhile since I’d drank so much I had trouble remembering the end of the night. I sat up and rubbed my eyes before going to the door, not caring that my hair was probably a mess and I was barefoot.

Ramel tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement as he took in my appearance. I scowled at him.

“I’m never playing drinking games with non-mortals ever again,” I groused. “It’s just not fair.”

“We do have uncanny coordination,” Ramel agreed seriously, his eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth.

“Did you wake me up for a reason, or just to gloat?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck. Thankfully the vinaess didn’t seem to induce hangovers, or I would have had to crawl to the door instead of walking.

“Gloating is all well and good,” he grinned, “but I came to get you for your lessons.”

“Lessons?” I stared at him blankly.

“With that long sharp object we call a sword?” prompted Ramel, arching one eyebrow and making a thrusting motion with an imaginary blade. I saw he wore his own blade at his hip.

“Thank you, but I’m not that thick-headed.” I scowled at him again for good measure. “Really? No day off after the celebration?”

“A warrior must always be ready to fight,” he replied with entirely too much vigor and enthusiasm.

“Ugh,” I responded. “What time is it anyway?”

“Almost noon.”

“Great,” I muttered. But as my head cleared I thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to break a sweat with a blade in my hand. One lesson and I was hooked, I thought ruefully. Ramel helped me adjust my sling—I’d only have to wear it for a few days more, much to my relief. I changed into suitable clothes while he waited outside, pulling on my boots and grabbing my sword hastily.

“No practice on an empty stomach,” he said as I came out into the passageway, handing me a little bundle of food wrapped in what felt like some type of wax-paper. He carried my sword and I discovered that the bundle contained a hearty piece of slightly sweet, nutty bread and a slice of cheese.

“There was another piece of cheese,” he said as we headed toward the gymnasium, “but I got hungry while I was waiting for you to change.”

I laughed and shook my head. Once we reached the gymnasium, Ramel sent me right into warm-up drills, and the session lasted longer than the day before, ending in a short sparring session. He slid edge-guards over our blades—thin little sheaths that made our swords into sparring blades. “Better than using the clumsy wooden sticks,” he explained. “You can still feel the balance of your weapon this way.” I knew Ramel was only going half-speed, if that, but I still felt a spark of triumph when I spotted an opening in his defense and snaked my blade through, touching the blunted point to his chest.

“Good,” he said with a grin. Then he launched into a full-speed attack that made me lurch backward in surprise. I managed to recover and desperately blocked his blows, the shock of his blade hitting mine running up my wrist and into my shoulder, making me gasp. After blocking four or five of his swings, he lunged and cut at my side. I couldn’t move my sword to block in time, and his blade hit my ribs hard. I went down on one knee for an instant, then stood again, using the tip of my sword against the floor as support as I tried to catch my breath through the pain.

“You’re doing well, Tess,” Ramel said in his teaching-voice, not even winded, “but remember that if you’re ever in a real battle, that is what you’ll have to deal with, so you must learn fast.” Then his eyes darkened as he realized how hard he had hit me.

“I’m fine,” I said, brushing off the question before he could ask. “I do need to learn.”

“Well met,” he said with a nod and a small smile. “We’ll make a warrior of you yet, pretty one.”

I felt a small nudge of curiosity at Ramel’s flirtatious pet-name as I balanced my sword against my leg and wiped the sweat from my brow. But I’d seen him interact with other ladies at the Court and I told myself that it was just his personality, nothing more. “So,” I said. “will you tell me more about the knights that were killed?”

Ramel’s face darkened for an instant, and I glimpsed his face devoid of his good nature. His expression became purely Fae, smooth and bleak and terrifying, his eyes glowing with that light to which I hadn’t yet put a name. It was the Fae-spark, I decided, suppressing the customary chill that tried to crawl down my spine. I was getting used to glimpsing the inhuman aspects of the Sidhe. Before I knew it, I spoke again. “What’s it like?” I heard myself ask in a soft, intrigued voice. “When your eyes are alight like that…and it seems there’s a door shut on all your emotions…”

Ramel took a shuddering breath and ran a hand through his coppery curls. “Far from it,” he said, shaking his head. “You mean when it seems as though our faces show no expression. That is because there is no expression suitable for what we’re feeling. There’s a poet in your world, Bren doesn’t particularly like her but I have read some of her works…she describes a particular emotion by saying that she feels as though the top of her head’s been taken off.” He smiled at my surprise. “Yes, we read mortal poetry still. We cannot help ourselves when it comes to things of beauty. In the time before the High Code, poets were often the favorites at both Courts. Some were even lovers…some say to the Queens.” He lowered his voice at that last bit, as if it were a piece of particularly juicy gossip, which it was, I supposed, discounting the fact that it was hundreds of years old. I couldn’t help but smile.

“So…it’s not that you’re not feeling anything at all,” I said, stretching my legs. “It’s that your emotions are too intense to be expressed.”

Ramel paused and then nodded. “I suppose that’s as good an explanation as any you’ll hear.” He gestured. “Let’s sit, and I’ll tell you about the knights.”

After Ramel took the edge-guards from my sword, I sheathed it and we went to sit on one of the low benches that lined the wall of the gymnasium. A few other pairs were practicing, scattered across the great space like pebbles thrown at a handful into a pond, the ripples of their practice-sounds overlapping and muddling as they reached Ramel and I. Finnead and Molly weren’t there.

Ramel must have seen me scanning the rest of the gymnasium. “You know,” he said, “if it’s your friend you’re looking for, they moved her quarters to the North Wing. That might be why you haven’t seen her.”

“Oh?” I said, readjusting my sword so I could lean back against the wall without it digging into my hip.

“If,” Ramel said, drawing the words out, “that’s who you were looking for.”

I chose not to reply, thinking that silence was probably the best response. Let them all think what they may, I thought, surprising myself with the vehemence surfacing in my mind.

Ramel leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “So you’d like to hear about the knights that were killed.”

The heavy sadness in his voice made my chest hurt. “If it’s too hard to talk about…”

He shook his head. “No. The best way to honor the dead is by speaking of them as they would have liked, with honor and respect.”

“You knew them,” I said.

“Yes.” Ramel looked across the gymnasium as he spoke, his eyes unfocused. “Haldrian was killed first. We’d been hearing rumors, whisperings on the wind about dark shadows creeping from the Deadlands. But there have been whispers before, and nothing ill came of it, so we didn’t pay it much heed.”

“I didn’t know the Sidhe…” I stopped, unsure of how to phrase my question.

“You didn’t think we could die,” Ramel said.

“Yes.”

“It is very hard to kill a Sidhe,” he said, staring straight ahead again. “There are only a few…methods…that truly work. There are more ways to hurt, but to kill takes a special knowledge and certain amount of…talent.”

“And Malravenar knows how to kill.”

“He enjoys pain more,” said Ramel darkly. “He has been known to… torture. Draw out suffering. But now it seems he is turning his attention to death.”

“Why the change?” I asked softly.

Ramel shook his head. “I would not want to know the motives of the Enemy. I would not want to see the workings of his mind.” He took a breath. “In any case, Haldrian was a young knight. He’d completed his task only about five years ago, and was knighted by the Queen on the Winter Solstice of that year. Most of the young knights are assigned to patrols along the border, for their first few decades.”

I smiled a little. Decades.

“Besides Darkhill, there are Glemhdin and Maeltan, and then on the far Southern border Queensport. Those are the largest holdings, and then there are countless small castles and manors between. The patrols are mostly a formality, just to teach the greenest knights how to live on the road. Every now and again there’s a troll that wanders down out of the North or a dragon that awakes in the Edhyre Mountains that has to be convinced not to go about pillaging.” He smiled mirthlessly. “To think I’d actually be grateful to be assigned to a patrol now.” Shaking his head, he continued. “There was a patrol passing by the Mordland Woods—those are just south of the Edhyre, about as far as we go on patrols. And they were ambushed during the night by fell things that they couldn’t see—or so they said. Swords and arrows worked against them, but it’s hard to fight an invisible enemy. When the fray was over, Haldrian had an arrow in his side. That would be painful but not fatal if it were any normal arrow.”

“But it wasn’t a normal arrow,” I said, almost in a whisper. The sounds of swords clashing rang across the gymnasium as one of the practicing pairs launched into a skirmish with uncovered blades. I watched their swords glitter in dizzying arcs and feints.

“It was tipped,” said Ramel. Then he checked himself and took in a sharp breath, his face draining of what little color it had.

“Tipped with…?” I prompted, though I knew the answer already. The horrible burnt smell of the iron sizzling through the flesh of the garrelnost rose in my memory, powerful enough to make my stomach turn a bit. I swallowed hard.

“That…is not for me to say,” Ramel replied, saying the words with some difficulty. “I cannot tell the weakness to a mortal.”

“Can’t?” I asked. “Or won’t?”

He glanced at me, and I noticed he looked rather gray. “Cannot, Tess…I cannot. The Queen’s power enforces the High Code on this point. It has been so…even before the Code itself…” He closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing slightly. “Even now, just thinking about it…I can feel it pressing down on me.”

“So you’ll burst into flames or something? Spontaneous combustion?” I asked mischievously, unable to restrain myself.

Ramel gave me a long-suffering look. “If you are going to insult me at least try not to do it…with horrible clichéd notions.” His skin had passed from gray to a pale blue, and sweat that hadn’t been there a moment before gleamed on his forehead.

“For goodness’ sake,” I said quickly, “if it hurts you that much, don’t even think about it.”

He took in a struggling breath. “But, Tess…” And he looked at me with an emotion I didn’t want to understand written on his face. “You should know, so you can….” He shut his eyes again without finishing his sentence, sweat rolling down his face.

“No,” I snapped, grabbing his shoulder as he wavered, swaying on the bench. “Stop it.” I leaned forward and whispered furiously in his ear, “Stop it, because I already know. I know that iron is the great weakness of the Fae.”

Ramel glanced at me in confusion. “But…the Queen…”

“I kept it from her,” I said, still in a whisper.

Ramel blinked, and took in a breath, and some of the blueness left his face. All of a sudden I was very aware that our faces were scant inches apart as Ramel turned slightly toward me. A tense moment hung between us as he stared at me. Then I cleared my throat and sat back, taking my hand from his shoulder.

“You kept it from her?” he repeated in a low voice.

I nodded, smoothing out the edge of my tunic with my palm. “Yes.”

Ramel sat back and was silent for a moment. Then I jumped as he laughed, his voice echoing out into the wide space of the gymnasium.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You,” he said.

I stared at him, stung by his words. “I fail to see what is so amusing about me.”

Ramel shook his head. “Tess, if I didn’t laugh, I think I’d be running away from you instead.”

“You’re joking.” I scowled at him.

“I swear to you on the Queen’s honor that I’m telling the truth,” Ramel said seriously. “You had the strength to shield a part of your mind from the Queen of the Unseelie Court. Aside from Titania, she is the most powerful being in Faeortalam.”

“Except for maybe Malravenar,” I pointed out, and then I immediately wished I hadn’t said it.

“Do not ever say that again,” Ramel said, his voice deadly soft. “For your own safety.” He shook his head. “You are brave, and strong, my dear, but you need to learn to temper your words, or think more about them before you say them.”

I nodded. “Sorry. I will.”

“Good.” Ramel leaned back again, a grin splitting his face. “You are full of surprises, my pretty mortal.”

“And you are full of superfluous compliments,” I answered back. Ramel just grinned more. I hated to make his smile fade, but I felt an insistent curiosity, a burning need to know the stories behind the three murdered Sidhe knights. “So Haldrian…he died from the arrow?”

Ramel sobered. “Yes. When one of us…when that is used…” He shook his head. “It takes a very strong knight, usually one of the Named Knights, to even come close enough to the injured to carry them from the battlefield, if they can’t move themselves. And it takes a very strong Sidhe to even remain conscious when they are wounded like that.”

The beginnings of an idea tickled the back of my mind. “You can’t even try to help them?” I asked quietly.

“That’s the worst part of it, Tess. Haldrian died alone, confused…probably afraid, when he should have been surrounded by his comrades.” Ramel stopped and took a breath. “They couldn’t even bring his body back to Darkhill for proper honors. They had to light his pyre by flame-arrows.”

I grimaced, realizing that I had underestimated the severity of the damage that iron could do to the Sidhe. It made sense that they would guard that knowledge closely; and I knew now that I had casually mentioned a very apt comparison when I’d compared the Iron Sword to an atomic bomb. “And the other knights?”

“The second attack was closer to Darkhill, on the Baenswold Moors to the south of the Mordland Woods.”

“Titania’s kingdom, that’s to the west?” I asked.

“The south and west,” Ramel replied. He held out one palm and drew an imaginary line. “I’ll get you a proper map so you can study. The Bright Court’s domain starts just south of Queensport, but to the west of the Edhyre Mountains. The Darinwel River runs most true to the border, besides the markers.”

“Markers?”

“Stone markers, set up back when there were still accords, sometime around when your Queen Elizabeth was alive.”

“So,” I said, putting together the map in my head, “To the North, that’s where the Great Gate used to be?”

“Yes. There were really no borders then, but today it is slightly in our domain. Not that it matters,” he added darkly. “And the North, that is where the Enemy bides his time. On the Baenswold Moors, there were more of the creatures, some of them like the one you killed, Tess, and then others that no one could rightly describe. The knights found this time that flaming arrows worked better against them, and they had the Vaelanbrigh with them. That was, I think, the point when he became the Queen’s favorite.”

My stomach tightened at that, for a reason I couldn’t quite understand. I thought of Finnead, standing straight and still beside the moonbeam-clothed Queen.

“He brought her back the head of a Deadlands creature,” Ramel continued, ignoring the look that I was certain had flashed across my face at the mention of Finnead. “A hideous thing, but a handsome battle-prize. And he put Arentha, the wounded knight, on his mount, and fought his way out on foot so that she could die in peace among friends, not on the battlefield with the smell of blood still in her throat.”

“Arentha,” I repeated. “There are female knights?”

Ramel nodded, balancing his blade point-down on the floor. “A handful. That is why the Queen took the loss hard, and sent the Vaelanbrigh to find the half-blood child.”

“And the third death?” I asked.

“Nearly on the borders of Darkhill itself, just before the border of the Royal Wood. The Vaelanseld barely escaped, and he could not bring the wounded with him.” Ramel’s eyes darkened. “They found no body to bury.”

I shuddered. And then, with the slow clarity of flame catching hold of a candle-wick, the idea that had been wriggling in the back of my head made itself known. “Ramel,” I said slowly, “if this happens again…if the knight can survive the ride back to Darkhill…or if I could ride out fast enough to them…” I turned my face to Ramel, a small smile curving my mouth. “I can take it out. I can touch it. These arrows they’re using, they won’t hurt me any more than a sharp edge would in my own world.” My smile grew a little. “They could be saved.”

Ramel tilted his head slightly, an answering smile forming on his lips. “How your eyes shine with that idea,” he murmured. “That’s brilliant. I doubt anyone has thought of that yet. Surprises and surprises.”

He trailed off, and I realized I had leaned forward with the passion of my new idea, and now Ramel leaned in close as well and before I knew what was happening there was an electrifying heat near my lips and Ramel’s mouth was pressed against mine and my mind stuttered and blinked, shutting out coherent thought in favor of savoring the taste of him, the alien sweetness and the strain of mortal boyishness on his lips. And then he drew back suddenly, taking a ragged breath.

“Sorry,” he said.

I looked at him and after a moment regained my ability to speak, my lips still tingling from the electric-shock feeling of kissing a Sidhe. “Don’t apologize. You’re not sorry.” My voice came out slightly raspy.

He grinned roguishly. “You’re right, as usual, my dear. I’m not.” He winked at me. “I couldn’t resist. And now I have bragging rights.”

I narrowed my eyes sharply. “Bragging rights?” I heard the bite in my words.

Ramel raised one eyebrow. “Well, of course. I was the first to steal a kiss from the pretty little doendhine, the first mortal to grace the Unseelie Court for five hundred years.” But then he winked again and I knew he was only joking. I rolled my eyes at him.

“Can we spar again?”

“If you like,” said Ramel, still grinning cheekily.

“Don’t go as easy on me this time,” I said as we stood, even though I could already feel the soreness building in my arm. When I got back to my room, I decided, I would test out my sword in my right hand. My arm had stopped aching, and it just felt sort of rubbery and weak. Another surprise to add to my arsenal, I thought with a small smile as we assumed the ready stance.

“Ready?” I asked Ramel.

“Always,” he replied with a roguish grin, and then I thought of nothing else but the bright flash and clang of our swords as they came together.

Chapter 14

After Ramel left me at my door, I slipped inside and lit the candles in the wall-sconces. The shower in this room flowed into a claw-footed bathtub, which I found immensely charming, and I planned to test it out. But first, I slipped my right arm out of my sling, hissing as I flexed my wrist. Sore still, but no more sore than my legs after a particularly long, hard run. I unsheathed my sword with my left hand, made a few passes, and then carefully transferred the blade to my right hand. Sharp pain immediately shot up my arm, but I managed to keep my grip, resting the blade point-down on the floor. I dragged over the chair from my desk with my left hand, and sat down, my sword to the outside of my right leg. Biting my lip in concentration, I forced myself to raise the sword until my wrist was fully flexed, and then lowered it slowly again to the floor. It hurt, but I managed to lift it six more times before my wrist froze with stiffness. I was sweating again, and my arm throbbed, but I felt a twinge of satisfaction as I sheathed my sword.

I took full advantage of the claw-footed bathtub to soothe my aching muscles, luxuriating in the steaming-hot water until I lost track of time and almost fell asleep. After three years of living with a roommate, I enjoyed the solitude of my own room, my own small corner of the world. I wrapped myself in a towel and wandered around the chamber. My room, unlike Molly’s old room, was not decorated with tapestries. Instead, mine had delicate paintings, done in a style that reminded me of Renaissance art just as the architecture of the Great Hall reminded me of a Gothic cathedral. One painting depicted what looked like a May-pole celebration, with Sidhe ladies in flowing gowns and flowers in their hair. The gathering was in a green rolling field, in the silver of twilight. I peered closer in interest: they were mounted on creatures that looked like horses, but I could see by the details that they were subtly different, the faery-mounts. For one, they were colors that I had never seen in a horse: the majority of them were dark colors, because I supposed that was the general trend in the Unseelie Court. But the dark faery-mounts shone with deep lustrous blue and green, and the paler horses—ones that would have been a dark, dappled gray if they were mortal horses—showed pale azure and mossy green in the lighter parts of their coats. The faery-mounts looked lighter than horses I’d seen in our world, slimmer in the body with delicate legs, but I had no doubt that these Fae creatures could be as fierce as lions. I wondered if the knights trained war-horses.

At the center of the picture, nearest the May-pole, was the Queen, recognizable even in the painting. She rode a mount as black as a starless night sky. A pale disk hovered above her head, much like halos in religious artwork, and she still wore the circlet with the star-gem. But something about her face was different. She was smiling, and there was a graceful beauty in her limbs that made me think she was going to dance as soon as she slipped down from her saddle. Riding beside her was a dark-haired knight who looked vaguely familiar. I thought for a moment, and then I realized that it was the Vaelanmavar. His hair was shorter, and he looked younger too, wearing a red tunic and astride a dapple-blue mount.

I stood looking at the painting for so long that my hair dried from my bath, and still I felt as though I had to learn something from the painting. Why had the Queen been so happy and beautiful and full of life then? Was the threat of Malravenar truly enough to transform the lovely Queen from the painting into the cold and terrifying Sidhe who had combed through my mind with razor-sharp claws? After examining the painting for a while longer, I recognized Allene, riding in the Queen’s party. Her face was grave but still light and beautiful. The largest change I could see was her eyes. When she had tended me, her eyes had been, for the most part, weighted with an unspoken sadness. The skillful artist managed to convey joy through her eyes in the painting.

Finally I stepped away from the painting and got dressed, stretching my arm. The heat of the bath had loosened my muscles well. As I pulled on my shirt, I found myself wishing that I had come to the Court in happier times…in the times before the High Code. It was novel and new, being treated like a celebrity; but as I glanced over at the painting again I thought that I would have much rather have gone Maying with the Unseelie Queen and her Court, rather than watch them prepare to battle an evil that threatened to destroy their world. The beauty of the Court, the arches of the Great Hall and the windows in the gymnasium all struck me again as hollow, an exterior held together by threads of desperation and far-off hope and resignation. They were putting on a brave face, and doing what they could, but the more I talked to Ramel and Bren and Ronan, the more I thought that they knew their chances were slim. I wondered what I would have seen if I had been able to look into the mind of Queen Mab, if she cherished the memories of riding with her ladies and knights about the May-pole.

I discovered a special peg on the side of the wardrobe for my sword-belt. After hanging the blade carefully, I sat on the bed and wondered what to do for the rest of the day. Then I noticed a stack of books on my desk that hadn’t been there that morning, and a handwritten note tacked to the top cover.

I thought you would like to know more about our world, the note read in precise calligraphy. The handwriting curved gracefully but there were no superfluous flourishes. It was signed by Bren. And then it said, PS- These books are really not supposed to leave the record-hall so I would appreciate it if you don’t destroy them. And I told Scholar that you would be more than happy to update his records on the mortal world with a personal touch.

I smiled at the post-script and set the note aside, pulling out the chair to the desk. It was surprisingly comfortable, for being a wooden chair. I pulled the first book from the pile, a hefty volume bound in deep red leather. The title, embossed in gold on the front, read A History of Mortal-Fae Relations. The book under that was Before the High Code: The Golden Age of Mortal Visitation. I opened it, expecting to sneeze from dislodged dust, but the book was obviously well-cared for by a curator or librarian. Bren had also left me a book called On Court Etiquette, apparently written for the young Sidhe who had never been to Court. I surmised they had a tradition of debuts, like the American South or the Victorian age in England. The last large, thin book contained a series of well-worn maps.

Liam had always teased me about being bookish. I’d curl up in a chair and read for hours, escaping from our less-than-perfect life into the adventures of heroes and heroines, dragon-slayers and detectives and lost princesses. I smiled a little. I went through a phase when I was seven in which I insisted that I was a misplaced princess, the heir to a throne of a fantastic country. I traced the edge of the book-cover with one finger. Time had left me with only a few clear memories of my father, and one of them was sitting on his lap, listening to him read me my favorite books. My father played along for a little bit in my princess phase, using it as an excuse to take my dearly beloved training wheels off my bike, telling me that princesses didn’t use training wheels. He didn’t seem to mind that I thought I was adopted and wanted to be whisked away to a different world. I smiled grimly. There had always been that longing, in the deepest parts of me, to escape from it all, especially after my father died. Sadness hung over our lives like forgotten Christmas lights in July, when you pass them so often they seem ordinary, and it’s only when someone else points out the wreath on your front door that you truly see it.

I decided to read the books in the order that they’d been stacked, just in case Bren had meant something by it. So I lit the little desk-lamp from one of the candles on the wall, and settled down into my chair, opening the red cover of On Fae-Mortal Relations. The Fae style of writing, I discovered, was much like their formal style of speaking: a bit stiff and archaic in places, and sometimes there were words in the Sidhe tongue that I guessed had no real translation into mortal words. I found myself wishing that I had a pen and paper to take notes, and I explored the drawers of the desk, finding a small stack of loose-leaf paper and, of all things, a silver ballpoint pen. The pen sat heavily between my fingers, and I supposed it was at least sterling silver. It wrote in thick black ink. I covered a whole page front and back, making my handwriting as small as I was able, before I closed the cover of the book and moved on to Before the High Code: A History of Mortal Visitation. I didn’t take as many notes reading that one, because it had a lot of names and dates stretching back all the way to before the Renaissance. There was a gap for a few hundred years before the Renaissance, and then the dates stretched back into what I guessed was probably ancient Egyptian times, and the Greeks and Romans. While some of that was interesting, it didn’t seem to be what I needed to know exactly at this moment, so I marked my page using the thick ribbon sewn onto the spine of the book and set it aside.

Bren came to fetch me for the evening meal, and afterward I studied more. I practiced for a while with my sword, using both hands, before sliding into bed, exhausted.

My days fell into a pattern. In the morning, I stretched out the stiffness of the night, warming up my muscles with a few practice sword-passes. I sat on the edge of my bed and strengthened my right arm again until it ached, and then Ramel knocked on my chamber door to take me to lessons. We drilled in the morning, took a few hours’ break for the midday meal, then again in the afternoon. I showered after that, and studied until evening meal. Bren took me to see the Scholars a few times. They were serene dark-haired men, not at all the wrinkled little librarians that I had pictured. I sat in a velvety green chair in the Great Library and patiently answered all their questions about the mortal world. Part of me wondered why they didn’t ask Molly about our world, but then another part of me remembered that Faeortalam was Molly’s world now. As much as I wanted to see her, I forced myself not to seek her out, and filled my days with learning and as much physical exertion as I could handle, going to bed each night exhausted. It helped keep my mind off Molly, and the small bud of homesickness burgeoning in my chest, but no matter how hard I worked myself during the day, each night brought dreams of Finnead. Each night I saw his face in my mind, in the last blurred moment before slipping into sleep.

As hard as I tried to fight it, I remained fascinated by him, and the stories told by the other Sidhe did nothing to dispel my curiosity. To the Court at large, Finnead was a mystery too. They all told tales about his bravery and prowess in battle, about his refusal to marry a lady of the Court despite Mab’s urgings, and his penchant for self-punishment. He took on the most dangerous, difficult missions, and the way most of the stories were told, he laughed in the face of peril. I remembered the feral grin and the glint in his eye as he drew his dagger before the garrelnost, and I believed it.

My relationship with Ramel progressed into a sort of brother-sister bond. Though in the back of my mind the memory of his kiss lingered, I enjoyed his light-hearted company enough to overlook that forward move. To my great relief, Ramel told no one of the kiss, or at least no one that spread gossip at the Court. I respected him for that, and I suspected he enjoyed teaching me sword-play far too much to sully our blossoming friendship with romantic involvement. He was too perceptive for his own good, though, and I was sure that he could see the longing in my eyes when someone spoke of Finnead. But he never spoke of it to me.

I wondered what the Sidhe were teaching Molly, and whether she knew of her sacrificial role in the defeat of Malravenar. I asked Bren if there were any books on the Iron Sword, and she looked at me balefully but slipped me a slim volume that I smuggled back to my room. I was still working my way through the books that she had given me earlier, taking careful notes and absorbing as much information as I could.

The book on Court etiquette was an easier read than the history, and I felt like it was imminently more useful as well. Apparently it is a grave insult to look the Queen in the eye unless told to do so, and the same courtesy was usually extended to the Named Knights. I raised my eyebrows at that one, remembering Finnead’s intense gaze before my ordeal with Mab. I took more notes, making a double-sided cheat-sheet that I could reference quickly in case I got myself into any more sticky social situations. By the time I finished with the etiquette book, I had to refill the little oil well on my desk-lamp, and then I spread out the map-book.

On a night about three weeks after my arrival in Court, I was studying the geography of Western Faeortalam, the Mordland Forest and Edhyre Mountains in particular, when a knock came at my door. Except it was less of a knock, and more of a ping. I frowned and blinked a few times to refocus my eyes, stretching my legs as I stood. I opened the door a crack, saying, “Who is it?”

The passageway was empty. I shrugged and turned back to my desk, shutting the door behind me and drawing the lock just for peace of mind. And sitting right on the middle of my map-book was a very familiar, very bright little glow.

“Wisp!” I said, grinning.

“Tess-mortal,” Wisp said, bowing in very courtly fashion. He hovered a few inches over the map-book as I sat down again.

“It’s good to see you,” I said, holding out my hand. Wisp alighted on my flat palm, barely heavier than a dandelion.

“I did not expect to see you in the Court of the Sidhe,” Wisp said.

“Well,” I replied, “I didn’t really expect to be here, myself.”

Wisp settled down, sitting cross-legged. “You are in grave danger here, Tess-mortal.”

“I know. The Queen already tested me. She said that I’m bound here until I perform some type of duty for her.”

At that, Wisp whizzed out of my hand and flew in agitated circles for a minute. Then he landed on my shoulder. I felt one of his tiny hands grip my hair for balance. “Not from the Queen, not from the Dark Lady, may the shadows bow down before her.”

I frowned a little. “Not from Mab? Then who am I in danger from? Another Sidhe?”

“No, none at this Court, none would dare to test the Dark Lady’s anger,” Wisp said into my ear. “None at the Bright Court either, not when the White Queen is losing power, maybe even missing.”

“Titania? She’s missing?”

I felt Wisp shifting on my shoulder, and I knew he was probably dancing from foot to foot in agitation. “None know, none know, nothing is certain anymore. No one can be trusted, no one stays true.”

“Come on, Wisp,” I said, holding up my hand again, but he refused to come down from my shoulder. Something had definitely rattled the little glow. “What’s the matter, really?”

“The Evil,” he moaned, pressing his tiny body behind my ear as if he was trying to hide. “The Enemy, his power grows and he kills the small ones, and even if they are beholden the Court does not take notice. The Queen does not care.”

I heard a hard anger in his small voice, and I noticed the lack of blessing after the Queen’s name.

“Wisp,” I said, “if you tell me what exactly happened, then maybe I could help.” But even as I spoke the words, I was unsure. I knew that at least Ramel would listen to me, and probably Bren, maybe Donovan and Guinna, but would that really change anything? Then I realized I knew the most important person at Court at this moment in time, aside from Queen Mab herself. I knew Molly.

“It is easy to speak words, Tess-mortal,” Wisp said, his words imbued with an alarming weariness. “Many mortals have given pretty promises and shining baubles to the smallest of us. They think that just because we are small, we do not notice when they slide around their words.”

“Glows still deal with mortals?” I asked, intrigued.

“We are not bound by the Code unless we put ourselves in service to a Court,” Wisp explained. “And even then, there are limits. We will serve, but not perpetually. We will take messages and perform small tasks, but we are no one’s slaves.”

I began to realize that the smallest inhabitants of Faeortalam possessed no less pride and valor than the Sidhe. “I understand,” I said to Wisp, “or mostly. I’m not asking you to do anything for me, Wisp. I want to help you.”

“It is all a balance,” Wisp said after a moment. With a small push he leapt into the air, hovering in the air just in front of my nose, far enough away that I could look at him without going cross-eyed. “If you help my people, Tess-mortal, we will help you.”

I nodded. “I don’t know what I’ll need help with, but when I think of something I’ll let you know.”

Wisp nodded his head seriously. “It is a good trade. We will be of good service to you, Tess-mortal.”

I remembered my lessons from the etiquette book, and I held out my hand, palm out. Wisp pressed his small hand into the center of my palm, his skin cool against mine. A little trail of goose-bumps ran up my arm.

“So in honor it is sealed,” Wisp intoned gravely.

“So in honor it is sealed,” I repeated softly. A small spark ignited where Wisp’s skin touched mine, and I closed my teeth on a squeak of surprise—the spark felt like a little electric shock. Wisp didn’t miss my surprise.

“It is bound with an oath,” he said. “And hurt will come upon either of us if we break our word.”

I rubbed my palm with one finger. “You take giving your word seriously.”

“As it should be, and as should you,” Wisp replied. He settled down onto the desk, standing on the icon of Darkhill on the open map.

“So,” I said, “will you please tell me what’s going on?”

Wisp turned about, gazing down at the map. His wings began whirring with an incandescent glow, and the toes of his boots grazed the map as he hovered, revolving slowly in a circle until he had gotten his bearings. He flew over to a point west of Darkhill, just before the Mordland Woods. “Just as the Sidhe have their strongholds, so do we,” he explained.

I took out one of the blank sheets of paper left in the drawer of my desk. After a bit of rummaging, I found a slender stick of charcoal, and I broke off the tip, offering it to Wisp. It was still too thick to be a proper writing utensil for him, and I saw the flash of a little knife as he pared it down to a manageable size. I gently blew away the charcoal shavings, and then slid the sheet of paper over the map, smoothing it out so the map-markings were clearly visible through the blank page. “Would you mark it for me?” I asked as I sketched in the rudimentary points on the map, marking Darkhill’s location, the start of the Mordland Woods, the Edhyre Mountains and the Royal Wood. I also sketched in the Darinwel River, the approximate border between the lands of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts.

Wisp, for his part, sketched in what looked like a tiny castle, adding exquisite detail to his drawing. I wished I had a magnifying glass. From what I could make out, the castle’s structure reminded me of an impossibly elegant bee hive, with hexagonal windows and additions arcing off the main structure. I waited patiently while Wisp finished his sketch. There was reverence in his movements, a studied concentration to every stroke of his diminutive pencil that led me to believe that this beautiful little structure no longer existed. He was sketching it as faithfully as he could from memory. A little pang hit my heart: I knew the feeling, tracing contours of my father’s face beneath the cool glass of a picture frame so that I wouldn’t forget the strong curve of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.

Finally, after about ten minutes of intense concentration on Wisp’s part, the drawing was complete. I saw that the structure was built about a tree, with the main castle or palace built on a sturdy lower branch, and then smaller versions of the palace hanging from branches like icicles or stalactites.

“There were many trees like this,” Wisp said, his voice heavy with sadness.

“It looks beautiful,” I said honestly, imagining a grove of trees filled with the small glows flying through the air.

“On the edges of what the Unseelie Court calls the Mordland Woods, there was a stand of oak trees that have been the home of the trooping Fae since before any alive could remember. And at the center of the stand there were the Three Trees, where we made what Court we desired.” Wisp hovered above his drawing, and even though I couldn’t see his face amid the glow, something told me he was gazing longingly at his sketch. “All were welcome, and we could come and go as we pleased, and those of us that served the Night made no quarrel with those that chose to perform tasks for the Day. White Queen, Dark Queen, it made no difference your loyalties. The greatest loyalty was to each other, and to the sacred Three Trees.”

“You all lived there?” I asked.

“No,” Wisp said, shaking his head. “We may make our homes wherever we wish. Some live behind the waterfalls of the Darinwel, some in the coldest caves of the Edhyre Mountains, some in the canopies of the Royal Wood. But the Three Trees always offered us shelter and comfort and company of our kin.” Wisp stopped and I could see him trembling, his glow pulsing and fading a little.

I had the feeling he wouldn’t be able to tell me what had happened, he was so distraught over it still, so I took a deep breath and decided to say it for him. “And…the Three Trees were destroyed.”

Even though my voice was as soft and gentle as I was able to make it, Wisp flinched. His light faded a little more.

“Flames,” he said, his voice so soft that I had to lean closer to hear him. “Dark flames, licking up the trees. Many were killed. Many who did not deserve to die.” His wings whirred angrily. “We have no allegiance to Night, no allegiance to Day! Our quarrels are not their quarrels!”

I pressed my lips together. “Wisp,” I said gently, “now it seems as though your quarrel is the Courts’ quarrel.” I sketched an arrow on the edge of my copied map. “Did you know that three knights of the Unseelie Court have been killed? They were killed by the same evil that destroyed your home.”

“Three?” cried Wisp in a voice that I had never heard him use before. He flew up and hovered right in front of my face, so that I could clearly see his small hands as he jabbed an accusatory finger toward me. “Do you know how many of the Glasidhe were killed? Do you know how many young ones, how many old ones?” The glow about his wings burned scarlet. I resisted the urge to lean away from him, because as diminutive as Wisp was, his rage frightened me a little in that moment. “Scores! Hundreds! And there is no help from the Courts! There is no help for us!”

“That,” I said quietly, “is where you’re wrong, Wisp.” I looked at him until the red faded from his glow. “I’m going to help you.” I held up a hand and after a long moment, Wisp landed in the center of my palm. He sat down cross-legged and put his head in his hands. The sight of him so distraught twisted my heart. “Wisp,” I said, “what is it that your people need most right now?”

He lifted his head from his hands. “Sanctuary. We do not know where there is safety.”

“How many are with you?”

“Twenty two,” he answered promptly. “But of those, fifteen have decided to seek sanctuary at our other settlements, with those they know in the Edhyres or beneath the falls of the Darinwel. So, seven, including me.”

I frowned a little at his word choice. “Wisp,” I said slowly, “are you some kind of royalty?”

Wisp sat very still for a long moment before he said anything. Then he sighed. “No. But from what is easily explained, I am what you would probably call a noble. My family has always served the Dark Court, and that is part of why I was chosen to come to you, Tess-mortal. And my princess…she is with me. She must be protected.” He turned his small heart-shaped face up toward me. “The Dark Queen thought I could be trusted.”

I sat back a little in my chair. Then I smiled a little. “Always surprises,” I said, mostly to myself, but Wisp heard me and replied.

“Yes,” he said, “I was greatly surprised by you, Tess-mortal, when I saw you here in Faeortalam. The Small Folk, we still pass freely into the mortal world. But we have not seen one of you here in…a long time.” He gave up trying to put words to the amount of time that had passed since a mortal had been in Faeortalam.

“Over five hundred years,” I supplied.

“A long time,” agreed Wisp. He leapt lightly from my palm and came to rest on his favorite perch on my shoulder, grasping the hair by my ear lightly for balance.

I glanced around my room. It was spacious enough. “What if you and the seven with you, what if you lived here for a time?” I felt Wisp sit up ramrod straight on my shoulder.

“With you, Tess-mortal?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, but then I felt a little unsure. Was there some law that I didn’t know that forbade Small Folk from being within a certain distance of the Sidhe, or some rule of etiquette that mandated some kind of segregation? “Is that…I mean, is it…proper?”

“Proper?” repeated Wisp. Then he laughed impishly, the first time that he had sounded truly like himself during our visit. “Not at all, Tess-mortal! It is very improper.” He tugged on my hair a little in his excitement. “And that’s why I like it.”

I smiled at his sudden jubilance.

“I will speak to one of the Queen’s ladies about what has happened to your people,” I said, thinking of Guinna, “and in the meantime, I will do whatever I can to make sure that you are very safe here.”

“Tess-mortal,” Wisp said, his voice sober again, “I do not want to anger the Dark Queen. There is no laws against the Small Folk speaking to mortals or even living with them…but this is Darkhill, and her word is law.” I felt him shiver a little, and an answering shiver scurried down my own back as I thought of the dangerously soft voice and gimlet eyes of the Unseelie Queen. I gathered my thoughts.

“Well,” I said finally, “you’ll find this out eventually, so I’ll just tell you. The Queen has bound me here in her service.” I ignored his gasp. “I either have to perform a task that pleases her enough to release me…or she’ll kill me, I guess.”

“There is no guessing about that,” Wisp said quietly. “Oh, how I wish you had come to the Three Trees and slept under the stars! Tess-mortal, being bound to the Queen by her own word is…is…”

“Bad?” I offered.

“Worse than bad, Tess-mortal, worse than bad!” Wisp tugged on my hair in his agitation.

“All right,” I said. “First of all, stop pulling my hair. Second of all, yes, I know how bad it is that I’m bound to Mab until I do something that tickles her fancy. She seems pretty hard to please. And third of all, please stop calling me Tess-mortal. Both you and I know that I’m a mortal, so it’s a little redundant, don’t you think?”

“Very well…Tess,” Wisp said. He had let go of my hair and was instead using the top of my ear for balance now. His cool hands felt odd but it was better than the hair-tugging.

“Here’s how I think of it,” I continued. “I’m bound in the Queen’s service, and you’re bound in my service, in a different way of course, but still. So if you’re doing me service, then indirectly you’re doing her service. See?”

“Your mortal logic is hard to follow,” Wisp said, and he made me repeat myself twice before he finally understood. While it was clear he wasn’t completely convinced that the Queen would have the same idea if she discovered the Glasidhe taking refuge in my chamber, I assured him that no one but me, and maybe one or two of the Sidhe I trusted, would know about them.

“Go and get your friends,” I suggested, “and I’ll go find Guinna. I’ll tell her what’s happened, and hopefully she’ll know how to approach the Queen about it.”

“Very well,” Wisp said.

I opened the door for him, and I saw him dim his glow a little and furtively flit down the passageway. As I shut the door, it occurred to me that I had just offered to share my room with eight of the Small Folk. I wondered for a brief moment if I had gone completely insane, and then shook my head, figuring it was just the effects of Faeortalam on my mortal mind. All the same, what exactly was I getting myself into? I thought long and hard, getting out my sword and strengthening my bad wrist again. The pain barely registered, I was so lost in contemplation. Half an hour later I still had no answer for myself, so I gave up thinking about it, and went to go find Guinna, hoping that she could help me. After a moment’s hesitation, I strapped my sword-belt around my waist. I left the door to my chamber just a crack ajar, so that if Wisp and his companions returned they could slip into the room, and hurried down the passageway toward the dining hall.

Chapter 15

As I hurried toward the dining hall, I saw Ramel walking down the hallway toward me—but my pleasure was short-lived, as he was walking with Donovan and Emery, and anger clouded all three Sidhe’s faces. All three were dressed for travel, wearing short cloaks and heavy boots along with their swords. I glimpsed the sheaths of throwing daggers at Emery’s waist—a specialty skill of most Guards. And Donovan carried his bow, the string wrapped in an oiled cloth. I stopped, cautioned by their grim expressions.

“Ramel?” I said tentatively.

“Tess,” Ramel replied with a terse nod, not even slowing his pace.

“Ramel, do you know where I could find Guinna? Or Molly?” I asked, falling into step beside him. I had to stretch my legs to keep up with their strides.

“No,” he said shortly.

I felt my brow furrow in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s been another attack,” Donovan replied.

“What?” I had to break into a jog briefly to keep up with the tall Sidhe men. “Is anyone…” I trailed off, grimacing as my sword banged against the outside of my knee.

“One dead, and perhaps another,” Emery said in his cool voice.

My heart jumped painfully in my chest. “There’s someone wounded?”

“Yes.”

“Queen Mab is sending out a company to escort the knights back,” Donovan said. “A company made up of both Guards and Knights.”

“Ramel,” I said, “if there is a Sidhe still alive that has been hurt by—”

“Tess,” Ramel said sharply, “you should go back to your room.”

“What?” I felt as though the air had been punched out of my lungs. “But—I can help, maybe I can save the wounded!”

“It’s too dangerous,” Ramel said, taking my arm and pulling me to the side of the passageway. He motioned for Emery and Donovan to continue without him. “Go on, I’ll catch up in the stables.”

“Too dangerous?” I repeated stupidly.

“Yes, Tess,” Ramel said, raking his fingers through his auburn curls in agitation. “This wasn’t like the other attacks. It was close, and it was brutal. Any venture outside the keep’s walls is dangerous. The Queen has issued sanctuary to all those living outside Darkhill.”

“What does that mean?”

“All those loyal to the Unseelie Court have leave to seek safety inside the walls of the Lady’s Keep,” Ramel replied. He put his hand on his sword-hilt.

“Does that include the trooping Fae?” I asked, unable to help myself.

Ramel gave me a strange look. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged one shoulder, knowing with a sinking feeling that I wouldn’t be able to lie to Ramel. He knew me far too well for that. My best bet was probably just evasion of the question. “I was just…wondering.”

“And why were you just wondering?” Ramel shook his head. “Tess, please. For your own good, if you know something…”

I took a deep breath. Ramel didn’t have as much influence with the Queen as Guinna, or perhaps Molly, but he had earned my trust. “All right.” I glanced around and lowered my voice. “There was a glow that came to me in Sionntalam, right before it all started. He was the first Fae that I knew, and I thought he was a dream at first. But he told me to urge Molly to accept the summons in the letter from the Dark Queen. I even saw the letter, after that. And then…in the fight with the garrelnost…” I stopped. If I told Ramel about Wisp’s involvement in the fight with the garrelnost, telling me how to use iron, I would have to tell him my part in the fight.

“Go on,” Ramel said quietly.

I trembled a little at the thought of speaking my closely guarded secret aloud. In the weeks since my arrival at Court, I’d learned in leaps and bounds, and one of the greatest things I had learned was that it was best not to attract the attention—and anger—of powerful beings in Faeortalam. “You have to swear,” I said finally, “that you will not tell this to another living soul.”

“By the Tree, Tess,” Ramel swore, “it’s that bad?”

“It’s not bad,” I said, hearing the tremor in my own voice, “it’s just very dangerous.”

“Dangerous to whom?” Ramel said, pressing me closer against the wall of the passageway.

“To me,” I whispered.

Ramel closed his eyes for a moment, and then when he opened them he gazed at me and said, “I swear on my honor that I will not tell another living soul what you are about to tell me now.”

I nodded and swallowed, gathering my thoughts. “When we were attacked by the garrelnost, just before I was brought through the gate…this Glasidhe, Wisp is his name, he got in my head. He told me how to use iron against the Fae, and…” I paused. Ramel waited patiently, his gaze never leaving my face. I had to look down for a minute before continuing on, his look was so intense. “I killed the garrelnost,” I said finally. “Finnead didn’t kill it. Well…he put his sword into it, but only after I shoved a horse-shoe into its eye. I think…I think it would have hurt Finnead badly, if Wisp hadn’t been in my head telling me what to do.”

Ramel let out his breath in a long, slow sigh. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “You know, Tess, I don’t think anyone really understands your true capabilities.”

I brushed aside his comment. “That’s not important right now. The point is, I pretty much owe my life to Wisp. If the garrelnost had hurt Finnead, it probably would have killed both Molly and me. And Wisp came to see me this morning.”

“Here? In Darkhill?” Ramel showed little surprise, just intense concentration as he followed my story.

I nodded. “Yes. And he told me that the Glasidhe had been attacked. Their stronghold, he called it the Three Trees, he said it had been destroyed. Burned.”

Ramel’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “You’re sure of this, Tess?”

“Yes, Wisp told me himself. I offered to help him and his kin, and they said they would help me in return.”

Ramel shook his head again, a slight grin touching one corner of his mouth. “Tess O’Connor, slayer of garrelnosts and protector of the Small Folk.”

“He helped save my life,” I pointed out. “He’s a brave little fellow.”

“I know. Wisp is one of the most trustworthy Glasidhe that I know,” Ramel said. “He’s served the Court for many years, and he’s never failed us.”

“So shouldn’t something be done?” I asked. “The trooping Fae have been attacked.”

“And so have we,” Ramel replied gravely. “As much as the Small Folk deserve our help, no one will be able to help them if the Courts fall.”

“The Seelie Court has been attacked too?” I asked, Wisp’s words about Titania rising to the front of my mind.

“Worse,” Ramel said grimly. “Word has come from the Seelie Court. Their Queen is…not herself.”

“Ramel,” I said slowly, “when I was first brought here, when I was still healing, I had…dreams.”

He nodded. “To be expected.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t understand. These dreams…they felt like…visions.” I felt a bit foolish saying it out loud, but Ramel didn’t laugh.

“And what did you see?”

“A beautiful woman…now that I’ve seen Mab, she reminds me of her, but brighter,” I said carefully, brow creased in thought. “She had hair so golden it was almost white, and the first time I saw her she was dressed in white before a group of Sidhe, speaking to them about something.”

“Did you hear what she was saying?”

I shook my head. “No sound. It was like watching a silent movie. And then I saw her again, in what looked like…a jail cell. She looked very sad. Distraught.”

Ramel rubbed his eyes. “Tess,” he said, “I don’t understand. Molly is supposed to be the important one, but you, you keep revealing these sides of yourself…”

I shifted from foot to foot, uncertainly. “I’m sorry if I should have told you sooner,” I said honestly. “I spoke to Allene about it, and she said that they could have been just dreams, or they could have been things that happened in the past, or will happen in the future.”

“Or are happening now,” Ramel said. “Look, I’ve got to go with the company. When I return, I’ll go to the Knights with what you’ve told me.”

“Let me come with you,” I said again, hating the desperation in my voice. “Please. I want to be useful.”

“You will be of no use to anyone if you’re hurt or killed,” Ramel said. I heard the undercurrent of worry in his voice. It reminded me, suddenly and strongly, of the many times that Liam had cautioned me against a certain course of action, telling me that he didn’t want me to get hurt, while he got to charge into the fray without any hindrance. I bridled.

“Look,” I said, “you may not believe it, but I can damn well handle myself.”

“You’ve had barely any training with a sword, when it’s all said and done, and you haven’t even touched a bow, and we haven’t gone to the stables at all,” Ramel pointed out. “I haven’t taught you how to fight with a shield, or to control a mount in battle, or what to do if your mount is killed.” He turned and began walking. “I don’t have the luxury of time, Tess. I can’t stay here and argue with you.”

I followed him. “Are you taking healers?”

“Of course,” he said over his shoulder.

“And they ride in the back of the company?” I asked.

“Yes,” Ramel replied slowly.

“Then put me in the back with them,” I said. “If there’s a mount strong enough, I’ll ride double. I don’t care. But if I can help save the wounded, you should let me come.”

He turned and faced me again. “Give it up, Tess. You are not ready. Not for this.”

I saw the hard resolution in his eyes and I knew that no matter how much I argued and how hard I tried to persuade him, he wouldn’t change his mind. So I stopped and forced myself not to look downcast. “Fine,” I said, working hard to iron out the waver in my words. “But when you come back, you’ll teach me archery, and you’ll take me to the stables, so that the next time a company rides out, I will be ready.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Ramel’s lips. “A hard bargain, but one I can accept.”

I held out my hand and Ramel clasped it in his huge, warm palm. Then he turned and walked quickly down the hallway. “Be careful,” I said softly, mostly to myself. I watched until he disappeared around a corner, swallowing hard against the tide of disappointment washing over me. Then I turned and started walking quickly back to my room. I had thought of a job for Wisp and his friends.

After a detour to the kitchens, where I picked up a loaf of bread and some cheese and a flask of wine—good, normal wine, not vinaess—I headed back toward my room. When I opened the door to my chambers, I expected to see Wisp and his companions ensconced on my bed or somewhere equally obnoxious, already taking over my living space. But, oddly, nothing seemed out of place. Even the little stick of charcoal that Wisp had used to sketch his destroyed home still lay on the makeshift map. Perhaps Wisp hadn’t returned yet—but I had taken enough time with my conversation and trip to the kitchens that I’d thought he would be back by now. The way he’d talked, I’d thought his companions hadn’t been far away.

I closed the door of the chamber behind me and set the food on my desk, carefully rolling up my sketched map and stacking the books on one corner of the desk. I sat down and picked a piece of bread out of the little cloth packet, idly nibbling one corner as I examined the map, studying the areas closest to Darkhill. There were a few pockets of forest, the Royal Woods being the largest, and a few rolling hills; but no mountains, no dense woods that would make it easy for the attackers to escape. To the North, the Edhyre Mountains were a good week’s journey from Darkhill, from what I’d heard Ramel say; and that was if the traveling party was mounted, and riding as if their lives depended on it. I put my sketch-map on top of the real map, and tried to think of the most likely avenues of escape for Malravenar’s raiding party. Then a chill skittered down my spine as a new thought struck my mind.

“What if it isn’t a raiding party?” I said softly to myself, mostly just for the comfort of hearing my own voice out loud. “What if this….what if this is it?” What if this was the beginning of the great battle that would decide the fate of Faeortalam? I felt suddenly and completely vulnerable as I thought of Ramel’s words. He was right, I realized. I only had been training with him for a little while, compared to the years of practice expected of a Sidhe squire; and even though we’d practiced for hours every day, I could only fend off his full-speed attack for a few desperate moments at most…and that was on a good day. I knew the basics of archery from high school gym class, and Liam had taken me shooting a few times, but gym class had been shooting at styrofoam targets with plastic bows and arrows. I was fairly certain that a Fae battle would be much, much more serious and deadly than neon-fletched arrows and bright bull’s-eyes on feather-light targets. I had only ever ridden once, at a county fair with someone else holding the horse’s bridle, and though I thought I could probably pick it up fast, I had no idea of the temperament of the Fae mounts.

I sat back in my chair and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, taking a few deep breaths and pushing down the panic bubbling in my stomach, threatening to overflow and froth up into my chest. I had killed the garrelnost, and I had kept that knowledge from Queen Mab. The panic receded a little. I took another deep breath and found another brick to build up my wall of defense against the feeling of vulnerability. My daily sword sessions with Ramel had made me sore at first, but now I was in even better physical condition than I had been when I was playing field hockey, with a new strength in my arms and back from wielding a blade. My stomach tightened a bit but the feeling of utter helplessness ebbed a bit. And then I thought of the greatest strength I possessed, the counterpoint to the Sidhe’s greatest weakness: I was immune to iron. With that, the panic faded, and although I still felt uneasy at the idea of being thrown into an epic battle for the fate of Faeortalam, I realized I didn’t have much choice in the matter. The workings of Faeortalam were far larger than me, and there was little I could do now that I was bound here by Queen Mab. I figured I might as well try to retain some of my dignity—or what little of it I possessed in this strange world to begin with—instead of being dragged into the fight kicking and screaming.

I shifted in my desk-chair and bent over the map, lighting the lamp after a moment of studying the parchment in the gathering gloom. How appropriate, I thought, that the rescue party would depart just as dusk was falling. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a quick little flash of glow, near the corner of my bed. I stood up hastily, almost knocking over my chair, my hand going instinctively to my sword-hilt. My heart jumped into my throat and then began racing like a horse out of the gate, galloping against the tender spot below my jaw.

“Tess!” said a small, familiar voice.

I heard my breath leave my lungs in what sounded very like a sigh of relief. “Wisp.”

Wisp flew out from beneath the bed and hovered in front of my face. “My people are excellent at concealment,” he said with a note of pride in his tenor voice.

Apparently that was the cue to abandon said concealment, because seven other glows came whizzing excitedly out from various hiding places throughout my room: three came from under the bed, one wriggled out from a desk drawer, two had hid in my wardrobe and the last had found a hollow space behind one of the paintings on the wall.

“Well,” I said finally, after the glows had all formed a little group behind Wisp, “I suppose you’d better all introduce yourselves.”

“Yes, yes,” Wisp said, “that is a very good idea, Tess-mortal.” He checked himself. “I apologize….in my excitement I sometimes forget that my affectionate name for you is redundant.” He said the word redundant in three syllables: re-dun-dant. I tried to suppress a smile, unsuccessfully.

I turned around my desk-chair to face the room and sat down, arranging my sword to the side and folding my hands in my lap.

Wisp cleared his throat grandly. He bowed. “First, my Lady Lumina, one of the three princesses of the Glasidhe.”

“Thank you, Lady Tess, for taking us in,” said Lumina in a lovely serene voice. Her glow was so bright that I could barely make out the outline of her body, but I was sure she was quite beautiful.

“I am honored by your presence, Princess Lumina,” I said, inclining my head to her.

“And this is Galax,” Wisp continued, introducing a male glow, a giant among the Small Folk. Galax was nearly two heads taller than Princess Lumina, and about twice her size in general. “He is a protector of our royal family.”

Galax nodded to me gravely. I nodded back, managing to keep a serious expression. He wore a sword in a scabbard across his back, and I imagined that it would take him two hands to wield the blade.

“And these two are Forin and Farin,” said Wisp. The two standing next to Galax bowed simultaneously. One was male, one female—I assumed the male was Forin, and the female Farin. They were twins, and both wore their hair in sort of long bob, so only by careful inspection could I distinguish Farin from her slender twin brother. They, too, were armed to the teeth with miniature weapons. Farin favored the bow while her brother wore a bandolier of daggers.

“This is Flora, one of the Princess Lumina’s ladies,” said Wisp, gesturing to the glow hovering to one side of Lumina.

I saw through her glow that Flora wore a very short sword at her waist, and a bandolier of what looked like throwing-knives. Strapped to her delicate leg was another sheath, holding a dagger no doubt. Even though she was no taller than my hand, I decided I wouldn’t want to invoke the wrath of the graceful but undoubtedly lethal Flora. A small silver circlet shone against her purple-dark hair, denoting her as some type of noble, I surmised, or a servant of the princess.

“And her brother,” continued Wisp, “Forsythe. They are cousins to Forin and Farin.”

So that was why their names were all similar, I thought in slight amusement to myself.

“My lady Tess,” said the dark-clad trooping Fae. He looked no less deadly than his sister, with a minute bow slung across his back and a quiver of tiny black-fletched arrows. To my surprise, he bowed to me. I smiled, which seemed to please him.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. Then I turned my attention back to the whole group. “I am very sorry to hear about the loss of your home, and I spoke just now to one of my good friends, a Sidhe who might be able to gain the ear of the Queen.” I told myself that Ramel would help, that the Dark Court would not be so unconcerned as to do nothing. “And if you wish, Princess Lumina, I could ask for an audience for you, with Queen Mab.”

Princess Lumina glided forward, as if drifting on a gentle swell of air though the room was perfectly still. “Thank you for the offer, Lady Tess,” she said in her mellifluous voice, “but the Small Folk and the Sidhe have never quite seen eye-to-eye, in more ways than one.”

I smiled at Lumina’s calm humor. Flora and Forsythe, too, suppressed chuckles. I admired their resilience, that they were able to see humor so soon after the dreadful event they had survived.

Flora stepped forward, with Forsythe close behind her. “If you do not mind, Lady Tess,” she said in a strong alto voice, “my brother and I would like to conduct a sweep of your chambers, to assure its safety.”

I gestured to my chambers with one hand. “Please. And make yourselves at home. I’m the only one who comes in here unannounced. Everyone else knocks and asks permission.”

Flora nodded. “Duly noted.”

She and Forsythe flew off to inspect the nooks and crannies of my room.

“With your permission, Princess Lumina,” I said, “I’d like to ask a favor of your people.”
“You have taken us in and proven yourself to be a Friend of the Small Folk,” said Lumina, “and so each may act in your service according to his own desires.” With that, Lumina turned and drifted toward my bed. Galax followed her, pulling a pillow to the center of the bed and standing by it like a sentry. Lumina curled up in the center of the pillow, barely making a dimple in the fabric.

“What favor do you ask?” Wisp said.

“A group of my friends has ridden out to rescue a party that was attacked by dark forces,” I said. “They said that any venture outside the keep’s walls is dangerous, so they wouldn’t let me go with them. I’d appreciate it if a pair of you would follow them, and come get me if they run into trouble.”

“They should have taken you with them,” Wisp said after a moment’s thought. “Because you are mortal, and you are not hurt by iron. That is what the Enemy is using against them, yes?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“We shall go,” said Forin—or it might have been Farin. I couldn’t tell without staring, and I thought that would be rather impolite.

“Thank you,” I said. “They headed out about a quarter-hour ago, in the direction of the Royal Woods.”

“We shall have to make up time,” said Farin. I was sure it was her this time because her voice was much lighter than that of her brother. “But we shall follow, and I shall come to you if any ill befalls them.”

“Thank you,” I said, relieved that I would at least have some idea of what was happening to Ramel, Donovan and Emery. And Finnead. His face rose unbidden in my mind and I shook my head to focus myself. I opened the door for Forin and Farin, and they dampened their glow as they sped down the hallway, faster than thought, passing out of sight before I even blinked.

Chapter 16

I closed the door to my chamber. “Wisp,” I said, “do you or any of your friends need anything else right now? I brought some bread from the kitchens, and I think there’s a piece of cheese in there too, if you’d like. Or I can try to go and…find something else…” I shrugged, suddenly feeling deflated. Now there was really nothing to do but wait for Forin and Farin to return. My stomach clenched at the thought.

“We are very capable of taking care of ourselves, even here in the Dark Lady’s castle,” Wisp said, an uncharacteristic gentleness taking the sting out of his words.

“All right,” I replied wearily, sitting in my desk chair. I sighed.

“What’s the matter, Tess?” Wisp asked, landing gently on the makeshift map.

I smiled a little. “I’m trying not to complain.”

“Sometimes you need to complain,” Wisp said. “Otherwise it rattles about in your chest until you want to hit something. Or someone,” he added with a cheeky wink.

I chuckled. “It’s just that I hate feeling useless.”

Wisp nodded, flying in slow, lazy circles. “This I know, Tess, because that is part of why the Dark Lady told me to go to you. You are a mortal who favors action.”

“And here, in your world, I feel like a kid again,” I said with a dry bitterness. “I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough with a sword to truly fight, and I haven’t even touched a bow or been taken to the stables yet.”

Flora and Forsythe alighted on the edge of the table. Forsythe bowed to me and I acknowledged him with a small nod. “If I may, my Lady Tess,” he said politely. When I smiled at him, he continued, “I don’t mean to intrude, but my sister and I could not help but overhear your conversation.”

“We are all in one room,” I agreed. “It’s kind of hard not to overhear everything.”

Forsythe inclined his head. “That’s very true, Lady Tess, and we are still thankful that you have chosen to offer your living quarters to us as a safe haven in this time of trouble. So I would like to point out, with the utmost respect, that you are not, my lady, useless in any sense of the word.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the small Fae’s eloquence. He was very courtly, and from what I could see very handsome. I was sure he was probably very popular among the Glasidhe ladies.

“And,” he continued, “if you’d allow us, my lady, I believe that my sister and I could be of some use in further relieving your feeling of inadequacy when it comes to using weapons.”

It took me a moment of thought to process Forsythe’s words.

“What my brother means to say,” said Flora with a small smile in Forsythe’s direction, “is that we can teach you.”

“Teach me?” I repeated.

“We may be small,” said Flora, and her sword, which was about the length of my pinky, flashed as she drew it, “but we fight better than the Big Folk, for our size. When we fight an enemy our own size, that’s easy. We have to be skilled enough to defend against—larger—threats.” Flora hesitated at the end of her sentence.

“Like me?” I supplied with a smile. “It’s all right, I won’t take offense.”

Flora smiled and bowed a little. “Very well, Lady Tess. Yes, like you.”

“So you could help me with swordsmanship?”

“We could help you with swordsmanship,” agreed Forsythe seriously, “and we could also teach you archery.”

“And knife-throwing,” added Flora, “although Forin is better than me at that.”

“Don’t be modest, sister,” said Forsythe teasingly. He turned back to me and said in a mock-aside, “She can put out the eye of a spider at two hundred paces!”

I thought about that for a moment, then nodded in respect. “That sounds pretty deadly to me.”

“Weapons aren’t my forte,” said Wisp without rancor, “so I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my companions, Tess. My strength is strategy, and speed.”

“Thanks, Wisp,” I said fondly, watching him turn to study the map. Then I looked at Flora and Forsythe. “Can we start now?”

“Certainly!” said Flora, her aura pulsing with enthusiasm. Her sword flashed again as she made a few lightning-quick passes, the metal singing through the air.

I grinned, suddenly feeling an almost overwhelming rush of optimism. I felt like I had a secret weapon now. Ramel, yes, he was a good teacher, but these small Fae, they had fought against beings literally a hundred times their size their entire lives. I figured I could use every bit of their expertise. “Let me get my sword,” I said.

For the next two hours, I found out that Flora and Forsythe were excellent swordsmen—they probably could have beaten Ramel, if the size differential were taken away. I also found out that they were exacting and demanding taskmasters: Flora would stand on the desk, and tell me what maneuvers to perform while Forsythe hovered above my head, examining my stance and execution from an aerial perspective. Then Forsythe critiqued my form, ever polite but painfully precise. Every half hour or so they switched positions, Flora hovering above me and Forsythe taking over the role of drill-sergeant. By the end of the first hour I felt sweat sliding down my back, and by the end of the second hour my arm ached and throbbed.

“Perhaps we should give her a short rest, brother,” said Flora, sitting on the edge of the table, dangling her legs and giving me a wicked smile.

“Yes, perhaps,” I agreed in a slightly mocking tone as I wiped my sweat-soaked face with a spare rag.

But Forsythe didn’t answer. He seemed deep in thought, turning in slow circles up near the ceiling. I took that as agreement, so I pulled out my chair and sat down with a sigh of relief, leaning my sword against the table.

“Flora,” I said, “how long do you think it will take the rescue party to return?”

“They were going to the Royal Wood?”

“Or somewhere close to it.” I nodded.

“It depends on many factors,” said Flora slowly. “If they are a rescue party, they will probably have to travel slower than a raiding party, because they will have healers and supplies to help aid their comrades. Then, once they arrive on the scene, they must decide whether it is most advantageous to leave on the return journey immediately, or if it is most wise to wait a time before beginning the return journey. They would have to wait if the healers require time to stabilize the wounded, or if the rescued warriors’ mounts are in no condition to travel. There are many different situations which all require different responses.”

“So they could return tonight,” I said, “or days from now.”

Flora nodded. “Yes, Lady Tess.”
I waved my hand. “Just Tess, please.”

With a grin, Flora acquiesced. “As you wish.”

“Lady Tess,” said Forsythe from above me.

Leaning back in my chair and looking up at him, I pointed a finger at Forsythe. “That goes for you too.”

“I apologize,” said Forsythe in his courtly manner. “I was not paying attention to the conversation between you and my sister.”

“Not Lady Tess. I’m not nobility of any sort. Just Tess.”

“Very well, if you wish it,” said Forsythe.

“I do,” I replied, seeing from the corner of my eye that Flora covered a grin at my mock-serious reply to her stiffly courteous brother.

“I noticed,” said Forsythe, “that you hold your sword in your left hand, yet you favor your right hand when doing up buckles and picking up other objects.”

I smiled. They were small, but their minds were as sharp as their tiny swords. “When I first came here…the reason I was brought through the Gate was that I was injured in a fight with a garrelnost.”

“You fought a garrelnost?” said Flora. I wondered if I was imagining the undertone of awe in her voice.

“Yes,” I said, and I noticed that Wisp had stopped pacing about on the map. “But it was only because of Wisp that I survived.”

Flora and Forsythe turned to Wisp, who stood up and puffed his chest out just a bit. I hid my smile, grateful for the reprieve from my sword-lesson.

“Tess already knew of the Weakness,” explained Wisp. “She would have worked it out in her own time.”

“But time was what I didn’t have,” I pointed out, remembering the horrible spine-chilling growl of the garrelnost and the carrion stench of its breath, the bristling of its ugly mottled fur as it circled Finnead.

“I only urged you in the right direction,” said Wisp. “That was my given task. Pushing you in the right direction.”

“Well,” I said, “you obviously did a very good job of it.”

“How did you kill it?” Flora asked.

I cleared my throat. “You can’t tell anyone else. It’s…it’s sort of a secret. The Sidhe, except for my sword-teacher, they don’t know that I know the Weakness.”

“Have you not met the Queen yet?” Forsythe asked, landing lightly on the desk next to his sister.

“She…um, she didn’t see it,” I said awkwardly. “I don’t…know. She…”

“You hid it from her,” Flora said, standing up and leaning toward me. This time I was sure I wasn’t mistaking the awe in her voice. I shifted in my chair uncomfortably.

“I…well, yes, but…” I trailed off.

“You should not feel useless, or like a child,” Flora said, suddenly grinning, “because you are the strongest mortal we have met in ages, and I have never heard of a mortal besting Queen Mab in a mind-sweep.”

I cleared my throat a little. “Well, I guess that’s good to know.”

“Your secret is safe with us,” said Forsythe.

“I know,” I said. “I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t trust you.” I stretched my legs as I leaned back in the chair, trying to suppress the vivid memories of the fight enough to talk about it without a quiver in my voice. After a moment, when I spoke, my voice sounded steady. “Finnead took Molly on his motorcycle, and Kirby, Molly’s dog, he stayed with me. They went over a hill. I couldn’t see them, but I heard Molly scream.” I heard my voice going slightly distant and felt my eyes go unfocused, but I continued with the story. “The garrelnost had knocked Molly off the motorcycle and Finnead was fending it off. I had our backpack, and there was some iron in it.” I took a breath and stretched my legs again, the tug of my sore muscles bringing me back to the present, anchoring me against the pull of the powerful memory. “That’s when I heard Wisp in my head. He helped me, told me what to do. I had an iron horseshoe in my pocket. I…I jumped on the garrelnost and shoved it in its eye.” I shrugged. “And then Finnead finished it off.”

“It would have gone very badly for the Unseelie Court if their Vaelanbrigh had been killed,” said Forsythe.

“I know. Or at least, now I know. I wasn’t told that Finnead was anyone important. He just showed up at Molly’s cabin, when she didn’t respond to the Queen’s letter quickly enough.”

Forsythe nodded. “In these times, the Queens have little patience even with their own people, much less when it comes to mortals.”

“You are a very interesting mortal, Tess,” said Flora. Then she turned to her brother. “What was it you were about to say, brother, when we were distracted by the tale of the garrelnost?”

Forsythe leapt from the table into the air. “Yes. Tess, your right hand was injured, but it’s the hand you prefer to use the rest of the time?”

“Yes,” I said. “I guess the Sidhe don’t have a dominant hand. Ramel laughed at me when I told him.”

“The Sidhe,” said Forsythe with a trace of disdain in his voice, “do not deal with mortals half so often as we do anymore, and they do not take care to remember the details of mortal life.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t take offense.”

“In any case,” continued Forsythe, “is your right hand strong enough to hold a sword?”

With a smile, I transferred my sword to my right hand, showing my two small instructors the strength and range of motion that I had carefully built up since my injury. Then, to my dismay, Flora said brightly, “Well, I suppose we should start from the beginning, then.”

They proceeded to have me run drills with my sword in my right hand. At first I felt just as clumsy as if I’d never held a sword at all, but my right hand, being my dominant hand, caught on quickly when I concentrated. And even though my grip on the sword weakened after about twenty minutes, I kept practicing. The burn of my muscles and the sweat dripping down my face distracted me from thoughts of Ramel, Donovan and Emery, riding out in the dangerous dark. But there was one face that I couldn’t erase from my mind with the salt and sting of sweat, and that was a certain named Knight with mesmerizing eyes and the colors of a raven’s wing shimmering in his dark hair. I bit my lip and clenched my jaw, forcing my hand to keep steady so that I could keep drilling, keep my mind busy. I wouldn’t think his name. I wouldn’t wonder if there was an iron-tipped arrow somewhere in the night, destined to bury itself in his flesh. I wouldn’t feel a subtle, twisted prick of jealousy at the thought of the healer who would try to save him, her hands touching his skin as I had never done, fingers tracing over warm bare flesh, feeling the hard muscles beneath.

Muscles. I gritted my teeth. Concentrate on your own muscles, Tess, I told myself fiercely as Forsythe called out the name of another sword-pattern.

“Mind your footwork, there!” Flora called out from above me.

Forsythe, standing on the desk, drew his own sword. “When you bring the sword through the half-crescent pattern, make sure you tend to your feet as well. There’s no use having your sword in the right place if you have no power behind it because you’re off balance.” He demonstrated, dimming his glow so that I could clearly see his small feet tracing an effortless pattern in time with his sword.

I nodded, took a breath and tried again, patiently listening to Flora and Forsythe as they corrected smaller errors in my technique. I ran through the half-crescent pattern several more times until they were silent after I completed the move. I’d learned to take their silence as approval, one trait they had in common with Ramel as an instructor. Though light-hearted and jovial the rest of the time, Ramel became deadly-quiet in our more serious lessons, the Fae-fire flashing in his eyes when we sparred. At first it frightened me. I wasn’t sure whether he would accidentally forget that he was fighting a half-trained mortal girl, and slice me in half, but time built my trust and made it unshakeable. I tried to bring up that trust, and use it to stem the worry clouding the back of my head, telling myself that Ramel would be true to his word and come back in one piece. He’d never broken his word to me before. The Sidhe held honor in high regard, higher than their lives. It would sully Ramel’s honor to die out there, I told myself.

After the two Glasidhe switched positions, Flora called out the next pattern from the desk, and I lifted my sword. Pain flashed through my wrist but I swept emotion from my face, hiding it as best I could behind a clenched jaw and thin lips. But Flora’s glow brightened and she drifted up into the air as lightly as a soap bubble caught on a breeze. “Your sword is shaking, Tess,” she said.

“That’s a sure sign,” said Forsythe from somewhere above me, “that our lessons should be over for today.”

I stubbornly stood with my sword, balancing its tip against the floor. “I won’t be able to sleep, so we might as well keep going.” I shifted my grip to my left hand again, even though the muscles in my shoulder and back felt like stretched, taut rubber bands that would snap at a sudden movement.

“If you still want us to teach you, sit down,” Flora said authoritatively.

I didn’t miss the look that the two trooping Fae exchanged at the sigh of relief that escaped my lips after I lowered my aching body down onto my desk chair. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead probing at the wooden floorboards with the tip of my sword.

“You’ll dull your blade, poking about like that,” Flora said after a moment, not unkindly. Forsythe landed lightly on the desk.

“You probably don’t know,” he told me, “that the Sidhe brought the masters of every style of swordsmanship here to their Courts from the mortal world.”

I looked at Forsythe in interest. “I remember reading something about that.” But I’d merely skimmed the history books, and the book about mortal visitation.

Forsythe nodded. “The Sidhe respect skill in mortals.” He looked up at me. “Almost as much as they respect courage.”

I shook my head as I caught his implication. “They don’t respect me, Forsythe. How could they? I’ve been here barely two weeks, I still get lost in the halls and can’t even hold my own against Ramel for more than two minutes in a sword-bout. I managed to get myself bound here by Mab until I do something that impresses her…and I haven’t seen Molly for over a week.” I sighed. “She’s the whole reason I got tangled up in this mess, and I don’t even know if she’s all right.”

“The half-mortal one?” Flora asked.

I frowned. “Yes. Why, have you heard something?”

“We do not eavesdrop,” said Flora with a stiff sort of pride, “but sometimes the Big Folk don’t realize we’re in the room, or in the passageway, when they talk of private matters.”

I could tell that the whole eavesdropping issue was a sore spot for the Small Folk, so I nodded and said, “Of course, I understand.”

“I heard,” continued Flora, “that they unbound your friend, and she’s a wild one.”

“A wild one?” I repeated.

“Back when Sidhe men and women took mortal lovers, there were many more half-mortal children,” said Forsythe. “And if they wished to live in the mortal world, they required a charm to protect them from suffering the Weakness all their lives.”

“It would take a lot more than just a charm to protect a half-mortal now,” I said.

Flora and Forsythe nodded together.

“Yes,” Flora said, “and so when the child was born she had to be bound.”

“Bound, like I’m bound by the Queen’s word?”

“No. It is much, much more powerful. A soul-binding is like…severing the Fae part of the soul from the mortal part. There has to be a barrier around the Fae half.” Flora searched for better words.

I found them for her. “It sounds like sewing up the Fae half of the soul, keeping it in a little pouch separate from the mortal part.” I couldn’t help a little shiver. “That sounds painful.” It brought to mind the tiny, twisted feet of Chinese girls, barely recognizable after years of tight bindings.

“Oh, it is.” Wisp landed on the desk next to Flora. “I witnessed it.” He shook his head in distaste. “I’ve never heard a mortal infant make those sounds before, and never since, either. Not pleasant, a soul-binding, and not easy.”

“Does it…permanently harm the soul?”

“Not if it’s done right,” answered Wisp. “It isn’t a soul-severing.” All three glows’ light dimmed a little at the mention of soul-severing.

“So the Fae part of Molly’s soul…it was locked up all these years.” I sat back in my chair and prodded at a splinter in the floorboard with my sword, unable to help myself despite Flora’s baleful look. “That explains why she always seemed so distant. Having only half your soul would do that to a person.”

“Mortals are remarkably adaptable, though,” Forsythe said seriously. “I’ve seen, in your world, those little creatures that like the sun, with tails and scales?”

“Lizards,” I said.

“Yes, that’s the name for them. Lizards. And there are some of them that grow back their own tail if it’s cut off.”

I made a face at Forsythe. “Is that what you do in my world?” I asked sourly. “Go around cutting tails off poor little lizards?”

Forsythe crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at me defiantly. “I was trying to see if they would be any good as mounts. Unfortunately they’re much too stupid to be taught anything at all.”

“Some would say that’s a trend with the mortal world,” Wisp said devilishly. I had the feeling that he was trying to make me smile, and he succeeded.

“In any case,” Forsythe continued, “you mortals are very good at adapting.”

“You learned swordplay with your left hand first,” pointed out Wisp, “when you like using your right hand. When I watched you, before I came to you in the dream, you held everything in your right hand. It never ceases to fascinate me.”

“So even though half her soul was bound up, Molly never really knew it was gone.”

“Exactly,” affirmed Forsythe.

I stretched my legs, kneading at the stiff muscles with my knuckles. “And is taking off the binding as painful as putting it on?”

Forsythe did not answer. I wasn’t sure if that meant yes or no, so I looked at Wisp.

“It isn’t quite common practice to take the soul binding off, once it’s in place,” Wisp said. “In older days it was so that the child could live a normal life in the mortal world.”

“If I was half-Fae, I would want to make the decision myself,” I said firmly, propping my left heel up on my right knee so that I could work on a knot that had formed in my calf after the hours of sword practice.

“You forget, Tess,” said Flora calmly, “that in Faortalam there are far more powerful beings than a half-mortal child.”

“First of all,” I replied in a voice just as velvety smooth, “Molly is not a child, just as I’m not a child. And second of all,” I said as I put down my left foot and started to work on my right calf, “Molly is the most powerful being in Faeortalam right now. Or if not the most powerful, the most important.”

“Why do you say that?” Wisp said in a slow, careful voice.

I chose not to look up from my leg, trying to appear unconcerned as I replied nonchalantly, “Because she can wield the Iron Sword, of course.”

A stunned silence descended over my desk, pressing down like a heavy warm palm on the top of my head. After a moment I couldn’t help myself. I looked up. Although they were silent, the Glasidhe’s auras burned as bright as miniature stars.

I set my leg down, and held my hands loosely in my lap even though my fingers itched to keep moving. “Do you know anything about the Iron Sword?” I felt a small flush of pride at the unbroken calm of my voice.

But the small Fae seemed not to hear my question. I couldn’t see their expressions, or even where they were looking, because of the bright flare of their glows. And then all at once they leapt from the desk and flew faster than thought over to the other side of the room, leaving neon trails in my field of vision. Frowning, I watched as they congregated on the pillow where Lumina had lain, sleeping. Galax gently awoke the princess, and she stood, the purer, whiter light from her aura mingling with the rosy dawn-hues of Wisp, Flora and Forsythe. They talked in quick, low voices—or rather, from what I could gather, Flora and Forsythe and Wisp were talking, and Lumina listened. After a few moments, I gave up on eavesdropping and stood, wincing at the pull of already-sore muscles. I hung my sword on its peg in my wardrobe, and grabbed a clean shirt and trousers before heading to the shower niche. With the way the Glasidhe were preoccupied, I doubted that they would even notice I wasn’t sitting at my desk anymore.

The hot water felt wonderful on my sore muscles, but standing under the steaming stream failed to calm my racing thoughts. I sighed through my teeth, frustrated. My mind galloped wildly away from me, image after image flashing through my mind. Some of the images surprised me, and some of them took my breath away.

I thought about Liam, and the last time I had seen him before he had boarded the military transport plane that would take him to Afghanistan. He’d looked at me, his green eyes shining with the excitement of adventure. And he’d told me not to worry, that he would be absolutely fine, that nine months would fly by like no time at all.

Was time still passing in the mortal world while I was here? Was there a massive search for Molly and me, a manhunt for the mysterious motorcycle rider who had spirited away two pretty young college students? Had the state troopers shown up at my mother’s door back in Pennsylvania, telling her that they were very sorry but her daughter was now a missing person?

A reflexive rush of anger tingled in my fingers at the thought of my mother. I saw in my mind her face, still beautiful but beginning to show its years. I saw her as I looked down from my window at home, watching as yet another man showed her to our front door, and yet again she was not satisfied with anything she could find. A good handful of decent men had courted her in the years since my father’s death, and although at first I was a little angry—a natural instinct, I think—I accepted it eventually, and even grew to like the idea of having a step-father. As a teenager I began to see that it would’ve done Liam good to have a father figure. Maybe he would have stopped worrying about me so much. Maybe he would have been able to smile a little more often.

I worked soap into my hair, creating a rich lather and letting the water sluice down over my chest and stomach. There was a kernel of bitterness buried deep in my heart that I could face now, so far away from home, in a different world. I had felt it, but I’d never put a name to it. I was bitter toward my mother, because she wore her grief like a veil, and pushed everyone away. Oh, sometimes she would date someone for a few months, and the first few times Liam got his hopes up. Mom’s boyfriend came over to the house, watched football games with Liam on television, then threw around in the back yard, talking about women and the world (as Liam understood them at the time). Liam would begin to like him, form a sort of bond; and then the guy would just disappear. I hated watching Liam’s hope die in his eyes, and I think I might have begun to hate my mother for it. More than a decade after my father’s death, and she didn’t allow herself to feel anything, probably not even for Liam and I.

I sighed, turning to rinse my hair. Even if the state troopers notified my mother, or she got a frantic call from the Jacksons, she would probably nod and then shut the door or hang up the phone. My mother was a glacier, cold and massive and unmoving.

The sputter of the hot water interrupted my introspection. Apparently the supply of hot water wasn’t endless in Queen Mab’s palace, I thought, smiling wryly as I turned the knobs and shut off the shower. I wrapped myself in one of the large, soft towels and sat on the small wooden stool by the bathtub, trying to think about nothing in particular. But I couldn’t help wondering why the glows had responded so intensely to my mention of the Iron Sword. I got dressed and braided my damp hair, and slipped back out into the main room. It had become habit to arm myself, even in my own room, so I buckled my long dagger at my waist in its well-worn sheath.

The small Fae were still gathered around Lumina on the bed. I walked toward them, thinking that they would certainly hear my footsteps, but when they didn’t pause in their conferencing, I cleared my throat softly. Wisp detached from the little group and alighted on his favorite perch, tucking himself just behind my ear. I walked over to the desk and sat down, my back to the bed now.

“What’s going on?” I asked softly.

“We didn’t know that you knew of the Iron Sword.”

“So what does it matter if I do?” I replied, unable to keep the edge from my voice. Even though my busy mind wouldn’t let me sleep, it didn’t mean that I wasn’t tired.

“It matters,” said Wisp carefully, “because the Small Folk have always had a part in protecting the Sword.”

“Really,” I said skeptically.

“Yes,” Wisp replied, sounding a little affronted. He tugged on my hair a little. “Just because we’re small, Tess, does not mean that we cannot do something. Just like just because you’re mortal does not mean you are not useful.”

“Thanks, Wisp,” I said acidly, “that makes me feel so much better.” I sat back in the chair jerkily, and felt Wisp grab at my ear to keep his balance. “You know, I was just an afterthought. I was just brought here to satisfy some stupid sense of honor.”

“Honor is not something to be talked about lightly,” said Wisp softly, but I overrode him.

“I don’t really care,” I said hotly. “I serve no real purpose here, and I’d really rather just go home.” A wave of longing for Liam and familiar things suddenly engulfed me, crashing over me like a stormy wave breaking on the shore. I stood abruptly, and this time Wisp did lose his balance, but his wings whirred, bringing him up in front of my face. I resisted the strong urge to shoo him away with one hand. I felt anger rushing through me, and I couldn’t pinpoint the source. It was like an oil well had ruptured somewhere deep in my chest and this rage was just billowing out, clouding the depths of my soul with slick dark anger. In the back of my mind, a small part of me resisted the anger, protesting that I wasn’t being myself: I had never given in to such vague and all-consuming rage, not when my father died, not when my mother pushed us all away, not when Liam left for war. I tried to take a breath but the anger was choking me. I had to get away, and I ducked around Wisp, reaching for the door of my chamber blindly, like I was drowning and that door-handle was the hand of a rescuer to pull me from the water.

“Tess!”

I heard Wisp call out my name as I stumbled into the hallway, but I pulled the door shut behind me and ran. I picked a direction and I ran as hard as I could, stretching my legs into a long stride, my booted feet pounding against the floor of the passageway. And the harder my heart beat, the harsher my breath tore from my throat, the more I felt the sea of anger roiling within me receding. It wasn’t going away, it wasn’t calming, but as my already-tired legs began to burn, I envisioned the ocean of rage contained in a glass tank, and I built the walls of the holding-tank out of my physical pain, making the glass thick and glossy with sweat, as hard as the pounding of my feet against the ground, as strong as the clenching of my jaw. Finally, when I slowed down, drenched in sweat, I realized that I’d been running blindly, with no real path, and no real idea of where I’d ended up. I leaned against the passageway wall, breathing hard and feeling my pulse pounding through every inch of my body. My legs shook, and I slowly slid down the wall, sitting in the dim passageway with sweat sliding down my back.

It was very late—or early, I supposed. I was sure that it was well past midnight, which was why I hadn’t encountered any Sidhe in my mad dash through the halls of Queen Mab’s palace. But just as soon as I had finished congratulating myself on my luck, I heard footsteps. Hastily I stood and tried to smooth out my hair, pushing at the inevitable fly-away strands that escaped my braid.

A familiar-looking Sidhe walked around the bend of the passageway. I stood up as straight as I could and tried to look unconcerned. Maybe I could just walk forward and pass him, and nothing would come of it, but a warning tingled in my spine as I recognized the Sidhe: he was the Vaelanmavar, the one who had assured Queen Mab that I could be killed easily if I proved to be too much trouble. I stiffened but kept walking, trying not to make eye contact.

The Vaelanmavar’s footsteps slowed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him staring at me. Then he stopped, shifting to the center of the passageway so I couldn’t pass by him. I stopped a few paces away, and looked up at him, trying to keep my face carefully blank.

The Vaelanmavar was handsome, in a harder sort of way than most of the other Sidhe men. His dark hair, worn long, framed a sharply chiseled face, and his eyes were a startlingly pale blue. I suppressed a shiver as his eyes deliberately traveled up and down my body. It was a look I’d received at bars and parties, and I’d grown immune to it…but this wasn’t a bar or party, and the man looking at me was no fraternity boy or graduate student. He wore the Dark Sword at his hip, and one of his black-gloved hands strayed to the hilt as he finished his leisurely perusal.

I stiffened and forced myself not to jump backward like a frightened rabbit as the Vaelanmavar took a step forward. He seemed to sense my instinct to back away from him, and he smiled a cold, frightening smile. I clenched my jaw and fought to maintain a perfectly neutral expression, a blank slate.

“You are certainly a beautiful young thing,” he said in a soft, velvety voice that made my skin crawl. I decided I would have rather him challenged me to a duel, rather than rake his gaze over my body like I was an object he could possess. I chose to say nothing, keeping my calm gaze fixed coolly on his face. I hoped he couldn’t see the slight tremors beginning to make my hands shake. Adrenaline coursed through my limbs, boosted by the leftover glow of my frantic sprint.

“I can see,” he said, taking another step toward me, “why the Vaelanbrigh would want to bring you here, sweet little mortal.”

I fought the temptation to open my mouth and release the retort crouched on my tongue. Somehow I knew that nothing I said would have any effect on those cold blue eyes and that small, frightening smile. The Vaelanmavar surveyed me again, a distinctly predatory look on his coldly handsome face now. Perhaps he was taking my silence for weakness, I thought. Although I knew I was probably in very real danger, I was able to push away the limb-numbing fear that would freeze me on the spot. I couldn’t afford a misstep like that in front of a very dangerous Sidhe such as the Vaelanmavar. I concentrated on keeping my breathing even and my gaze steady. I brought my awareness to the dagger at my hip, knowing that if it came down to weapons, speed and surprise would be my only advantage…and even with an advantage of surprise on my side, the Vaelanmavar could probably still kill me without a second thought.

The Vaelanmavar took another small step forward, that small smile appearing again. He was enjoying himself. I felt a prick of intense disgust.

“Tell me, tender mortal,” he said slowly, pausing between each word and letting the sound of his voice caress the air between us, “how often has the Vaelanbrigh had you in his bed?”

I knew too late that I hadn’t been able to contain my flash of surprise and anger, that it had swept through my eyes before I’d been able to clear my expression. But I also noticed that the Vaelanmavar had pronounced Finnead’s title with a considerable amount of distaste, narrowing his eyes. I wondered whether the Vaelanmavar resented Finnead’s power and skill, whether he disliked the younger Knight for his rise to favor in the Queen’s eyes. Maybe I could use that to unsettle him.

“Ah, yes,” said the Vaelanmavar in a low voice that was very close to a purr, or a growl, “you thought your affair with the Vaelanbrigh was a secret.”

I kept my breathing slow and even. Obviously the Sidhe was utterly convinced that I’d been sleeping with Finnead...and a small part of me pointed out that I wouldn’t resent the opportunity, and I might have even taken it, if Finnead had made the offer. I felt a blush rising in my cheeks at the thought, and let that be my answer, however the Vaelanmavar wanted to interpret it.

He gave a low chuckle of satisfaction. “Oh, your surprise is delicious. I saw the look between you, when you were standing before the Queen.” He took another step, closing the distance between us, and I had to clench my fists at my side to stay still. I heard him taking a deep breath, and when I realized he was smelling me, my stomach clenched with sudden nausea.

The Vaelanmavar was standing slightly to my right, and thankfully I’d buckled my dagger at my left side. I moved slightly forward and to the left, so I could put my back to the wall of the passageway. The Sidhe moved with me, and took another step forward. I took a step backward, unwilling to let him touch me, and felt the coolness of the wall against my back. A slow wheel of profanities started turning in my mind, but I refused to let any of them cross my lips. I refused to let him see my fear.

“The Vaelanbrigh looked at you and I saw it in his eyes,” the knight said, his lips bare inches from my ear. One of his pale, spidery hands came up and stroked my hair tenderly. I pressed back hard into the wall, revulsion making my stomach churn. “He would give everything up for you.” His hand stroked my hair again. “And I can see why he finds you so alluring.” I felt his lips brush my ear, and I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would break.

I wanted to push the Vaelanmavar away and tell him that Finnead didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. But maybe I could use Finnead as protection, if the Vaelanmavar really thought that I was sleeping with him. I swallowed and hoped my voice would come out smooth. “And so what would you have me do, Vaelanmavar?” I asked in a low voice.

He leaned back, one hand on either side of my shoulders now, keeping me pinned to the wall. His pale blue eyes searched my face. “I would have you for myself,” he said, his voice half a growl.

“Do you think,” I said slowly and carefully, “that the Vaelanbrigh would appreciate you poaching his mortal?”

The Vaelanmavar’s eyes narrowed, and then he chuckled again. “That young upstart does not deserve a mortal lover. And in any case, he is absent at the moment, trying to impress Her Majesty by mounting a rescue attempt for those that are already lost.” He smiled mirthlessly. Then his eyes turned calculating. “I hope, for your own sake, that you are not…rejecting…my advances.”

A small cold thread of fear pulled on my heart, but I thought hard. Play the mortal card. “Of course not,” I said, almost in a whisper, “but Finnead is very jealous, and I would not want to make him angry.”

The Vaelanmavar’s eyes darkened. In a sudden movement he gripped my jaw in one of his hands, hard, and I gasped involuntarily. “Trust me, tender mortal, you would not want to make me angry,” he hissed into my ear, and then he crushed me against the wall so hard that I couldn’t breathe, and his mouth was on mine, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, his lips pressing with bruising force, his other hand gripping my shoulder in an iron vise, and then clawing down my body with seeking fingers, squeezing one of my breasts brutally.

After the first shock I felt the rage rising within me again, beating against the glass walls I’d built scarce moments before. Anger flushed my face, pushed back the desperate tears pricking against the corners of my eyes. I bit down hard on his tongue, gagging at the rush of sweet blood that flooded my mouth. The Vaelanmavar shoved me away hard, and the back of my head hit the wall jarringly, but my left hand went to my dagger.

“Bitch,” gasped the knight through the blood pouring from his mouth. I had caught part of his lip, too, and it was torn badly. It made me sick to think that my teeth had done that, but before he could recover, I pushed myself off the wall, dagger flashing up to his neck. I gripped his tunic and with all the strength I could muster spun and used my momentum to shove him up against the wall, where I had been pinned seconds before. I think it was shock that kept him from killing me. He stared at me with those pale blue eyes, dark blue blood running down his chin. I pressed the edge of my dagger hard against his throat, hard enough to draw a line of blue-black blood from his skin.

“Yes,” I said, “I am rejecting your advances.” I leaned in as close as I dared, pressing the dagger harder. The Vaelanmavar stared at me, an oily darkness filling his eyes. “If you touch me again,” I continued softly, “I will kill you.”

Part of me protested loudly that I should kill him now, that there would be nothing but trouble from him. He would be a powerful enemy. But I didn’t know how Queen Mab would take the death of one of her Named Knights, at my hands especially. Not that I was even sure if I was capable of killing him in the first place, because after all I was a young mortal woman with a few weeks of sword-training, not a knight or even a guard.

“If you knew,” said the Vaelanmavar thickly, his pale eyes burning with rage, “what a powerful man I am, you would not have done that.”

“What’s done is done,” I said. He shifted against the wall a little and I pressed the dagger harder against his skin in response. “It would be best,” I heard myself say in a low voice, “if you just let me walk away, right now, and never so much as look at me again.”

The Vaelanmavar, wiping dark blue-black blood from his pale skin, smiled at me, his perfect teeth gilded with gore. I saw his right hand shift ever so slightly toward the hilt of his sword, and as intrinsically as I knew that my skin would burn if I put my hand into a fire, I knew that if I let the Vaelanmavar draw his sword I would die, whether I was a guest of Queen Mab or not. And quick as thought I brought my dagger from his throat and slapped him across the face with the flat of the blade, hard enough that both edges cut into his skin and left deep gashes across his face. I realized that one of the edges had cut across his left eye as he screamed, a sound of both pain and rage that sent a chill skittering down my spine. I half-turned, keeping him in my sight as I walked back the way I had come, making my strides as quick as I could without breaking into a run, still holding my dagger.

The Vaelanmavar’s scream echoed in my head as I rounded a bend in the passageway, and then I ran as fast as I could, knowing in the deepest part of me that I had just made a very, very powerful enemy at Queen Mab’s court.

Chapter 17

As I ran down the passageway I lost my grip on coherent thought. My jaw burned where the Vaelanmavar had gripped me, and I still felt his hands raking down my body. I had no idea where I was running, but I knew that if I stopped I would probably start screaming, or my stomach would win its surly and insistent insurrection. So I let my feet carry me where they wanted, rounding bends and choosing turns at will. Then I felt a slight cool breeze, and I followed the feel of the fresh air. I came to an open doorway and stepped through it, out into a garden. A stone path meandered away from the doorway, disappearing amid wildly colorful flowers that even in the moonlight shone red and blue and yellow, pink and pale white. I stood for a moment, just gazing at the soft beauty of the garden. Then my hands started shaking, and with a grimace of despair I lurched behind one of the beautiful bushes as my stomach rebelled.

The grass behind the bush was soft, cool and slightly wet with dew. I reflexively gripped the lush blades with each spasm of my body. I heard a small sound of helplessness, and realized that it had come from me. So I coughed and spat, and sat up shakily. That was enough of that. Even though my hands were still shaking and I wanted badly to run back to my room and scrub the feel of the Vaelanmavar’s touch from my skin, I sat quietly and forced myself to take several breaths of fresh night air. I leaned back on my heels and looked up at the sky. The stars in Faeortalam shone brighter, seemed nearer, than the stars back home, and the darkness of the sky was different too, a deep velvety purple that hung down to the horizon like a great heavy curtain. As I watched, a spark of light split from one of the stars, and the light turned a pale, delicate blue, unraveling into a long string of color. Then the string swept into a sheet of dancing light, and I gasped at the beauty of it. After a heartbeat, another star emitted a little pulse of light, and this one turned as green as a peacock’s tail, shimmering and dancing, swirling alongside the blue light. Within a moment, a golden sprig of light sprung from a different star, and the lights covered half the night sky. I leaned back on my hands and watched, utterly entranced.

“The stars are singing to you.”

I jumped and barely managed not to yelp, swallowing the sound back down just in time. I scrambled to my feet and turned sharply. Guinna stood gazing at me from the path. I took a breath and let my shoulders relax. A look of puzzlement drifted across Guinna’s lovely face like a cloud drifting across a clear sky; and then comprehension dawned in her starlit eyes. I hurriedly stepped away from the mess behind the bushes, walking back to the path.

“Hello, Guinna,” I said. To my dismay, my voice wavered. I tried for a smile and failed completely. Before the dead smile could wobble and turn into a grimace of anguish on my face, I looked away, swallowing hard. I cleared my throat and then tried again. This time my voice was stronger. Not perfect, but almost. “Why are the stars singing to me?” I turned my face up into the velvety darkness of the night, watching the play of light above me, a dance that my soul longed to join. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Yes,” agreed Guinna.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her looking at me intently, but I kept my gaze on the star-song.

“Would you like to sit with me, Tess?” Guinna asked, motioning to a bench. I hadn’t seen the bench when I’d first come out into the garden because it was delicately carved of a pale wood, and situated amid low trees that bloomed with nodding white flowers.

After we sat down, Guinna smoothed out the skirts of her pale blue gown, her pale hands moving like a mirage in the moonlight. We watched the stars for a little more, and my heart ached at the solemn magnificence of it. I started to get a familiar feeling, and when I tried to place it I realized it was the same feeling I’d gotten when Finnead had carried me through the Gate and I’d glimpsed Faeortalam for the first time. Every fiber of me ached with the fierce beauty of the alien land, and underlying that sweet pain was a pull, like a threat wrapped around my heart and tugging through my breastbone. I wanted so badly to be a part of the wild splendor of this untamed world, and I didn’t exactly know why. All I knew was that something in the untamed riotous beauty and danger of the place stirred my soul deeply, in an unsettling and insistent way.

“The stars sing for those whom they love,” said Guinna softly in her mellifluous voice. Her words drifted slowly through the dark air, mingling with the sweet perfume of the heavy-headed white flowers.

“How can the stars love me?” I sat back against the bench. “They don’t know me.”

“Sometimes, knowing a person is quite different than loving them.”

I shook my head. “That’s something I can’t say I’ve heard before.”

“And the stars,” continued Guinna serenely, “might know you, Tess, much better than you might think. They’re very different than the stars in your world, you know.”

I nodded, watching as a sheet of lavender fire wrapped around a glowing, pulsing blue orb in the sky. “I know.”

“The stars in Faeortalam, they’re…alive. The stars in your world have grown distant. Ours still come close and sing to us on summer nights.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat silently, enraptured.

“It is written in the old books that the stars can see into the soul.” Guinna smoothed her skirts again. The star-fire shone on her hair and made her marble-pale skin glow. She turned and looked at me. “I think they are seeing your soul, and they are singing to you because they love you for what they see there. I think they know you are…upset. And they want to make you happy again.”

I blinked sudden hot tears away from my eyes, clenching my jaw resolutely. I tried to push the thought of the Vaelanmavar from my mind, but his hate-filled gaze burned in my mind’s-eye as if he were still staring at me.

“Would you like to talk to me?” Guinna asked gently. “Perhaps I can help.”

I took a deep breath. Maybe confiding in Guinna would make the Vaelanmavar’s stare disappear from my mind. Maybe then I could forget the feel of his hands gripping me like a vise. “Only if you promise not to tell anyone else.” I didn’t want the story getting out, becoming just a piece of everyday gossip. From what I’d seen, the Sidhe were just as prone to gossip as mere mortals, and I didn’t like the idea of becoming a part of their daily tabloid—or becoming more a part of it than I was already.

“If that’s what you want, I will hold your words in confidence.” Guinna looked up at the stars serenely, waiting silently for me to speak.

“I was…taking a walk,” I started. My involvement with the glows wasn’t necessary to the story, and I didn’t want to stir up the incandescent rage that was still lurking somewhere within me, waiting to be triggered. It still felt a little wrong, that pulsing ember of anger, but I pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the best words for my story. “I couldn’t sleep. And I ran into the Vaelanmavar.”

Guinna stiffened slightly. It was a minute movement, but I was very good at reading Sidhe body language after my weeks in Faeortalam.

“He tried to—convince me—to be his lover,” I said, trying to keep my voice as level and emotionless as possible. “And I said no.”

“The Vaelanmavar isn’t familiar with rejection,” said Guinna quietly. “He is a favorite of the Queen, and one of the named Knights, and so to be connected to him is to gain some measure of power.”

“I don’t want power,” I said, unable to keep the disgust from my voice. “Not like that, at least.”

Guinna nodded. “I can see why that wouldn’t sit well with you, Tess.”

I didn’t know exactly what that meant but I decided not to ask. “He got very angry and tried to force himself on me.” Guinna made a low sound, and I thought I heard a similar revulsion in her voice, but I kept talking. “I didn’t let him do what he wanted. I…” I paused, wondering what Guinna would think of my fighting tactics, and decided that I’d started the story so it stood to reason that I should finish it. “I bit his tongue, hard. He was bleeding pretty badly. And then I held my dagger to his throat, and told him not to look at me ever again.”

“Ramel told me you were bold,” said Guinna with an undertone of something like wonderment in her voice. “Now I believe him.”

I smiled a little, then sobered as I thought of the end to my tale. “I told him to let me walk away, but he went for his sword, and I slapped him with the flat of my dagger. I only meant to sting him, maybe cut him a little, but…I think I cut his eye,” I said, trying to keep a pleading note of desperation out of my words. I wanted Guinna to understand that I hadn’t had such dark intentions when I’d hit the knight with my blade, even if he had tried to…force himself on me. My mind tried to use another word, but I violently pushed it away.

“Did he hurt you?” Guinna asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure, Tess?”

“I’m fine,” I said, even as I knew how ridiculous that sounded. But Guinna had the grace to accept that time-worn defense, and we sat for a heartbeat looking up at the stars.

Then Guinna said, “I was going to come to your chambers, later. I know that you are worried about Ramel and the others.” She hesitated almost imperceptibly after naming my sword-teacher, as if she had been about to say another name. I silently blessed Guinna’s tact. I didn’t know if I could have handled stirring up that particular maelstrom of emotions. I was content to let her gloss over the name that had almost passed her lips.

“Well,” I said, leaning back against the bench again, “I’m glad that you found me here.”

“I’m grateful that you trust me,” Guinna replied.

I looked up at the sky, at the vividly colored star-fire dancing on the stage of the night, and I said to the stars, “I’m glad I saw your dance, and your song.” After a moment, even though I felt a little silly talking up to the sky, I said, “Thank you. It was beautiful, and I feel better now.”

The dancing lights flashed golden in an explosion of beauty. My heart caught in my throat, and then the golden light faded, leaving the night sky velvety-dark. And even though the lights no longer played on the cathedral-vaulted expanse of the heavens in this strange world, I looked up at the stars in their alien constellations and felt oddly comforted as they twinkled, larger and closer than stars in the earth’s sky. I smiled a little. “I feel like they’re watching over me,” I said. “Is that strange?”

“No,” replied Guinna, “because they are.” She paused. “You have more people watching over you than you think, Tess.”

“A lot of good that did,” I said, unable to keep a strain of bitterness from entering my voice.

“We can’t watch over you all the time. Ramel is the one whom the Queen charged with keeping you safe.”

“What?” I turned to look at Guinna in surprise.

“It’s his task, to move up in the ranks of the knights.”

“So the Queen assigned me a babysitter. Wonderful,” I said dryly.

“I was the one who spoke to her about it,” Guinna confessed. “A few of the men expressed their concerns and asked me to speak to the Queen.”

“A few of the men?” I asked. “And who would those men be?”

“If you would like to know…” Guinna trailed off, as if she expected me to answer.

“I do,” I said firmly.

“Finnead came to me first, just after your encounter with the Queen. He didn’t particularly like the outcome, especially the Vaelanmavar’s comment. And then Ramel spoke to me about it the next day, after the celebration. Donovan and Emery mentioned it to me as well, but Finnead and Ramel were by far the most insistent.”

The cool night breeze delicately brushed against my skin as I leaned back, crossing my legs. So Finnead had asked Queen Mab to protect me, and Ramel had followed hot on his heels. I licked my lips, remembering suddenly the feel of Ramel’s kiss; except instead of picturing Ramel in my mind, an image of Finnead rose to the forefront. I knew what it felt like to kiss a Sidhe, but I desperately wanted to know what it felt like to kiss one in particular. I’d been propositioned by a Named Knight, but not the right one. I shook my head slightly at my unwittingly spun web of intrigue. “You know, it’s funny, Guinna. In the mortal world, I’m really nothing special. I have trouble connecting with men. It always seemed like there was something missing, whether they were my own age or older or younger, it didn’t matter. There was always something that I wanted that they couldn’t give me.”

“And do you think a Sidhe man may give you what you want?” Guinna’s voice wove through the darkness, brushing against the nodding white flowers all around us.

I sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know whether I even want to find out, because…I mean, I have to go back to my own world eventually, once I’ve satisfied Queen Mab and this whole mess with Molly is resolved.”

“Do you still tie up your fate with the fate of your friend?” Guinna tilted her head slightly, considering me with cat-like eyes.

“She’s the reason I’m here,” I said. “I haven’t seen her in a while, but…I guess I just thought we were both busy.” I shrugged.

“Tess, you must realize something. Do you know of Molly’s soul, of how the Fae half was bound so she could survive in the mortal world?”

“Yes. I was told it wasn’t a pleasant process.”

“Not in the least. It is painful, but that pain is quickly forgotten by a young child. But the pain of unbinding…that marks a person. It brands their soul, and some do not recover easily from it.”

An uneasy feeling of foreboding blossomed in my stomach. Guinna spoke in a voice that was too gentle for my liking. I’d heard it before, and it stirred vague recollections in the back of my mind, hazy decade-old memories of when a state trooper and our parish priest had stood on the front doorstep speaking to my mother in soft tragic tones.

“Is Molly all right?” I asked, sitting up straight. I stared at Guinna for a long moment.

“Mostly,” replied the Sidhe woman.

“And what does that mean?” I demanded, standing up from the bench.

“Tess, please sit down again,” suggested Guinna.

“No. I’d rather stand, thanks.” I looked down at Guinna, one hand on my hip as I waited for an explanation.

“She is not as she was when you knew her,” Guinna said carefully, her hands folded serenely in her lap, her heart-shaped face turned up slightly toward me. “She is struggling with many things, and I do not know if she will ever be as she was when you were her friend.”

“Stop talking about our friendship in the past tense,” I snapped. “I haven’t seen her for the past few weeks because no one told me where she was, and I thought she was too busy learning…everything, just like I was.”

“She has more to learn than you, Tess,” said Guinna.

“Right, because the fate of Faeortalam depends on her, etcetera, etcetera,” I said acidly. A small bubble of anger drifted up my throat. I tried to swallow it down but instead it traveled up into my skull, burning behind my eyes like a hot stone. The delicate sweet scent of the beautiful flowers drifted around me, and the stars sparkled reassuringly in the sky, but I felt my eyes narrow, burning with resentment. “And I’m a mere mortal so I’m not worth her time.”

Guinna’s careful silence cut into me like a knife. I took a shaky breath. It couldn’t be true. Molly would still want to see me, still care about me like the good friend that I was. I’d believed her story back in Texas, when anyone else would have committed her to a psychiatric ward or laughed at her. I’d saved her from the garrelnost, almost getting myself killed in the process, and now I was stuck in Faeortalam until I satisfied Queen Mab.

“The Fae half of her,” said Guinna softly, “is very strong, very wild. The binding was barely holding it back. When it was unbound, it...erased…most of her memories from the mortal world.”

The breath left my lungs like I’d been punched in the stomach. “So…she doesn’t remember me?”

“It is likely she does not.” Guinna stood, and reached out a small delicate hand to me. “I am sorry, Tess, that you have lost your friendship with her.”

“I wasn’t the one who lost it,” I said, making no move to take Guinna’s hand. I half-turned, staring at the vividly white flowers of the trees surrounding the bench. They looked like a cross between a rose and a lily, but their beauty did nothing to comfort me. I realized that the news that Molly had no memory of our friendship hurt, an ache deep in my chest—a place that hadn’t been touched by the Vaelanmavar’s rough handling, that few people had ever touched. It was a raw feeling, and it erased the last lingering effects of my encounter with the Vaelanmavar, leaving instead a heavy misery that hung like a weight in my chest. In an instant I’d lost my only remaining connection with my own world. I felt like a shipwrecked sailor, abandoned on a desolate island.

“You could still see her,” said Guinna. “But you would have to start over again.”

A bitter smile crept onto my lips. “I don’t think I want to do that.”

“If it makes a difference—”

“It probably won’t,” I said under my breath.

“—you should know that she is faced with a very difficult task,” finished Guinna smoothly.

“Oh yes, right, saving the world and all.” I smiled mirthlessly.

“Tess, it isn’t as though it’s going to be easy for her,” Guinna said, her voice no longer gentle.

I’d finally rattled Guinna out of her prim and proper shell. I felt a small smug twinge of satisfaction. “She has to use the Iron Sword to kill the Big Bad of Fairyland.” I shrugged.

“This isn’t a joke, Tess,” Guinna said, irritation coloring her words now. “Malravenar is very real, and very dangerous. And just to remind you, if you die here, you die in your world as well. It’s not as though this is a dream. You won’t wake up, and neither will Molly.” Guinna was on her feet now, energy vibrating from her slender gowned body like ripples from a rock thrown into a pool. “And while we’re different than you, we can die too, Tess. Donovan and Emery are out there right now, facing the evil that Malravenar has created. If they die, their bodies will be just as cold as mortal corpses.” Her eyes were burning with the Fae-spark now, her hands no longer extended toward me in a gesture of comfort but clenched at her sides.

I took a deep breath. Guinna was just as worried about the rescue party as I was, and that did nothing to allay my fears. I wondered if Forin and Farin had caught up to the rescue party. I wondered if the group of knights and guards and healers had reached their stranded comrades, or if they had wandered into an ambush. I pictured them on their darkly gleaming steeds, riding through the night to the rescue of their companions…and then I firmly told myself that I was indulging in stupid fantasies. Daydreaming wouldn’t accomplish anything, and I took another breath as I realized that I had an opportunity to speak to Guinna about the plight of the Glasidhe. “I hope they come back all right,” I said sincerely. “Really, I do. And…thank you for talking to the Queen to get protection for me.” I glanced away. “It’s hard for me here sometimes. I feel like I’m stranded, especially now.”

Guinna nodded. Her hands slowly relaxed, and her face softened, the Fae-spark leaving her eyes.

“And I have something else that I need to tell you, if you’re still willing to listen.” When Guinna inclined her head gracefully, I motioned to the bench and we sat down again. “One of the reasons I’m here is because a glow came to me in a dream when Molly received the letter from Queen Mab. She wasn’t going to come, and the Queen sent Wisp to convince me to talk to Molly.” I paused. “Or at least, I thought it was a dream.”

“The Small Folk are skilled at blending the line between dreaming and waking,” agreed Guinna.

“You know Wisp?”

“I have probably seen him about Court. There are a number of Glasidhe that run errands from time to time for the Queen and even the named Knights.”

I nodded. “In any case, he came to me today. Or yesterday.” I grimaced. It was probably well into early morning, after my sword sessions with Flora and Forsythe, and my encounter with the Vaelanmavar. “Do you know of the Three Trees?”

Guinna nodded, a sudden look of worry passing over her face. “They’re sacred, especially sacred to the Small Folk. They are their homeland, their sanctuary, their place in the world.”

“The Three Trees were attacked. Burned to the ground.” I watched Guinna for a reaction, but she gazed at me silently, waiting. “Wisp came to me and asked for sanctuary for himself and six of his companions.”

“Who exactly are these companions?” Guinna asked carefully.

I cleared my throat. “Well, apparently one of them is a princess. I asked her,” I continued quickly, “if she wanted some sort of audience with the Queen or something like that but she seemed to think that they wouldn’t…see eye to eye.”

“Where are they now, Tess?”

“Why?” I asked, looking at Guinna. “You’re not going to have them…I don’t know, arrested or something, are you?”

“Of course not. But if you want me to speak to Queen Mab—which I assume you do—about the plight of the Glasidhe, and the burning of the Three Trees, I need to know where I can find them, if I need to speak to them.”

“I can bring them to you,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I told them that I was the only one who would know where they are. I guess I don’t want to make them feel like I betrayed them, or exposed them.”

Guinna nodded once. “If you gave your word then I cannot compel you to act differently.”

“Thanks, Guinna. But you’ll talk to Queen Mab, tell her that the Three Trees were burned, probably by Malravenar’s forces?”

“Yes. I am surprised that none of the patrols…” Guinna stopped, brow slightly creased in thought. “Have you been studying your maps, Tess?”

“Yes,” I replied. I tried to understand why she would bring up geography. And then the answer lit up my brain like a stroke of lightning. “The attack on the Three Trees and the attack on the patrol…you think they were connected?”

“I will have to check, but I believe that the patrol traveled very near to the Three Trees. The attack was closer to the Queen’s Keep, though.”

“The fuglies could have trailed the patrol, or split up. Half for Three Trees, half following the patrol.”

“Fuglies?” Guinna wrinkled her nose. “I am unfamiliar with the word.”

I stifled a sudden chuckle and made it into a hiccupping sort of cough. “Um. It means bad guys.”

“Ah. Well then, it is entirely possible the…fuglies…could have trailed the patrol back. I will look at a map, and propose this theory to the Queen as well. Or perhaps I shall talk to the Vaelanbrigh about it when he returns.”

“That’s a good idea. Finnead will know what to do.” I shifted. “Well. I should probably get back.” I stood.

“You must be tired,” said Guinna softly, standing along with me. She looked at me seriously. “Ramel and Finnead are both gone. I would lock your chamber door tonight.”

I nodded. “I will.” I tapped my dagger handle. “And I’ll probably sleep with this underneath my pillow just for good measure.” I smiled.

“You look slightly like a wolf when you smile like that,” Guinna said. She tilted her head slightly. “I’ve seen that look in a mortal’s face before.”

“Yeah? And who was the mortal?” I asked, half jokingly.

“Her name was Gwyneth, and she was a very powerful priestess. One you might call a sorceress.”

“Well,” I said, sobering, “I guess I’m honored to be compared to her.”

“Come to think of it,” Guinna continued, “there’s something of her about your eyes…and your limbs. She was tall, just as you are, and she could handle a bow like no other mortal I’ve seen.” She smiled slightly. “Then again, that was at least five hundred years ago, in your time.”

“I thought you were Bren’s age,” I said in surprise. We started walking back toward the doorway of the garden.

“When I was Bren’s age,” replied Guinna, “I was running about on the moors of Ireland wearing very little clothing, inciting the local women to join me in bacchanals.”

We reached the doorway and before I had time to break my stunned silence, Guinna pointed.

“Two lefts and a right, past the kitchens and then on the left hand side that will be your chamber.” She flashed a rare grin at me, then disappeared in the opposite direction, full skirts swirling about her small frame.

“Well,” I said to myself, “I guess it is true that you learn something every day.” I shook my head and pointed my feet in the direction of my chamber, looking forward to some well-earned rest.

Chapter 18

When I opened the door of my room, the Glasidhe didn’t hide. They were all sitting very still and silent on my desk in a loose semicircle with Lumina at the forefront and center. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, drawing the bolt as Guinna had advised. I looked at them expectantly, and when they said nothing I walked over to my desk and sat down on the chair facing them.

“Well,” I said, “I talked to Guinna, one of the Queen’s ladies. She thinks that the attack on the Three Trees and the attack on the Sidhe patrol may have been related.”

“You know of the Sword, Tess,” said Lumina without preamble, as if I hadn’t spoken.

I blinked in surprise, trying to focus my tired mind. Then I shrugged and nodded. “Yes. A few of my Sidhe friends told me enough that I pieced it together. It was in a book in Molly’s room, and then I asked them about it.” I licked my lips. “I know that it—or the allegiance of its Bearer, I guess—was given to the mortal Queen Elizabeth. When that Bearer died there was some sort of falling-out between Titania and Mab, and then the Sword was lost.”

The other glows remained silent and grave as Lumina spoke again.

“The Sword was never entirely lost,” she said softly in her bell-sweet voice.

“But if the Sidhe knew where it was, they wouldn’t be wasting time looking for it. They don’t know where it is,” I said.

“The Sidhe do not know where it is,” replied Lumina.

“The Sidhe have an irritating tendency to underestimate the Glasidhe,” said Flora from behind the princess.

“We know things that they have forgotten,” said Forsythe from beside Flora.

“We know things that they have never known,” said Flora.

“And we know things that they desperately wish they knew,” said Galax from his post slightly behind Lumina.

“Things that they desperately wish they knew,” I repeated softly to myself. My mind suddenly snapped into sharp focus. “Are you saying, Princess Lumina,” I said in a careful, quiet, almost breathless voice, “that you know where the Iron Sword is hidden?”

Lumina looked gravely up at me, and for a moment I saw every feature of her beautiful heart-shaped face distinctly as her glow faded, then flared again. When she spoke, she spoke in a voice reminiscent of the terrible, spell-binding voice of Queen Mab, and I understood at last that even though she was small, Lumina was a very powerful being in her own right. “Yes, Tess. The Glasidhe have safeguarded this knowledge for hundreds of years, since it was lost to the Sidhe.”

I stood up so quickly that I almost knocked over my desk chair. “I have to go find Guinna again, or Bren, or maybe I should wait until Ramel returns,” I said breathlessly, my words tumbling over one another, my voice riding a swell of triumph that rose within me like an ocean wave.

Lumina leapt off the desk, faster than I’d ever seen her move. “No, Tess! You cannot!”

I turned, already halfway back to the door. “Why?” I demanded. “I can’t stand by knowing that the Sword isn’t lost, letting my friends go and risk their lives fighting against Malravenar. The patrol that’s out there right now, they could be attacked and killed!”

“They might be,” said Flora, “but we do not know whom we can trust.” She hovered behind Lumina, one hand caressing her bandolier of throwing-daggers.

“The Unseelie Court, they are closest to the night, and the darkness spreads more easily to them,” Forsythe explained gravely. “Malravenar’s evil is a poison seeping out from the Deadlands. Here, in the Queen’s Keep, most are still untouched…but the Queen’s power is waning.”

I thought of the grand feast to celebrate Molly’s arrival at Court, and the feeling that it was all a magnificent front, a façade to hide the desperate state of the Unseelie Court. And maybe I’d been able to hide my knowledge of the Weakness from the Queen because of her diminishing power. I shivered at the thought of Mab at the height of her glory.

“I have been trying to help,” said Lumina quietly. “She knows I am here. She feels my power.”

“Help with what?” I asked.

“There are many other defenses besides those in the physical plane, even in your world. I have been trying to help the Queen and her Knights with the defenses. That is why at least one of the Knights is here, always, because Mab draws upon their power.”

“You do know an awful lot about what goes on around here,” I said with a small smile.

Lumina inclined her head. “Wisp has always kept me informed of the doings of the Unseelie Court.”

“Do you have any eyes in the Seelie Court?” I asked curiously.

“Of course, although one of my sisters usually handles the Seelie Court envoys.”

“Can I ask then…I don’t really know anything, but I had a dream before I first woke up, a dream that didn’t really feel like a dream. I saw a Sidhe woman that I think could have been Titania…and she was in what looked like a prison cell.”

Several of the Glasidhe murmured in apprehension.

“I mean, like I said, it could have just been a dream,” I clarified hastily.

Flora stood up and began pacing. “I knew we should have sent a guard with Trillow, Majesty.” She unsheathed one throwing knife and tossed it from hand to hand in agitation. “If there is an attack, she and the others will be left on their own to fend for themselves.” The knife flipped between her hands faster and faster, like a small silver star in its own orbit.

“Trillow and Pan and Zara can take care of themselves,” said Forsthe gently.

Flora went very still and then suddenly threw her knife down into my desk, her arm arcing in a smooth violent motion, the small blade flashing for an instant before burying itself to the hilt in the wood. Forsythe stood very still, watching Flora as she quivered in rage.

“Just like the others who could take care of themselves?” Flora demanded, facing Lumina. I sat silently, watching the small rebellion unfold.

“Flora,” said Forsythe quietly, a subtle warning in his voice.

“We all mourn those we lost in the Three Trees,” said Lumina gently.

“We mourn but we do nothing,” spat Flora bitterly.

“Then what do you suggest we do?” rumbled Galax, just behind the princess.

Flora looked at Galax, and then at Forsythe; and after a moment she stalked over to her dagger, pulling it out of the wood savagely, her wings quivering.

“Please,” said Forsythe—either to me or Lumina, or both of us—“excuse Flora. She is distraught over the loss of kin and kith.” He bowed politely to me, then to Lumina, and took Flora by the shoulders, escorting her to the opposite edge of the desk where they sat and began to talk in quiet voices.

“So, Tess,” said Lumina, turning back to me, “you would have me give you our greatest secret and our best hope, so that you may give it to the half-blood.”

“What choice do we have?” I asked, spreading my hands. “Molly is already unbound, and even though she won’t remember me I still trust her. She’s still the same person she was before.” My voice sounded defensive even to my own ears. “We have to tell them where the Sword is, so that Molly can use it against Malravenar.”

“Tess,” said Lumina, “have you not thought about why you are here?”

“Of course I have,” I said. “Finnead brought me through the Gate because I saved his life.”

“He brought you through the Gate because he saw something in you,” Wisp said. “The same thing that I saw in you even when I first came to you.”

“Malravenar’s evil is strong,” said Lumina, “stronger than any evil we have ever known.”

“Are you saying that Molly won’t be strong enough to defeat him?”

“Not necessarily. I do not know. She might prevail in the end. But everything happens for a reason. She has forgotten her mortal life, and so she has become…less mortal.”

“She’s still half mortal. You can’t become less than what you really are.”

“But she’s had half of herself missing for all her life. That half, her Fae half…”

“It’s strong. I know. Guinna told me that too.” I paused. “Her mother was mortal. Who was her father?”

“That is not for me to say,” said Lumina carefully.

“Is he still at Court?” I asked.

“No.”

“He’s dead, then?”

Lumina looked away from me.

“Lumina. Is Molly’s father dead?”

“We do not know.”

“Who was he?”

It was Forsythe who answered me. “He was the Vaelanmavar’s brother.”

“Molly is the niece of the Vaelanmavar,” I breathed to myself, pushing down the revulsion that overpowered me at the mention of the knight. “Well, that would explain why Mab was all right with binding Molly instead of killing her, if Molly is connected to one of her knights.”

Lumina shook her head. “It was a prophecy that stayed her hand, not her own mercy. She would have killed her. She is Queen, and she was bound to uphold the High Code.”

I shuddered. “She really would’ve killed Molly?”

“Her power rests on the laws. If she does not obey them, then how may she expect her Court to obey them? The Vaelanmavar’s brother broke the Code, but most thought it was fate, and forgave him for it. He paid a terrible price, but he was not banished or beheaded.”

“Fate.” I shook my head. “I don’t think I believe in fate. I’m pretty much a mistake, being brought here.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Lumina said fiercely.

I looked at her in surprise.

“It is all a delicate series of events,” she continued. “Don’t you see, Tess? You meeting Molly, becoming friends with her, trusting her even when she seemed to be making up fantastic stories….and you possessing the courage to kill the garrelnost. It all could have ended in that instant. Malravenar would have extinguished the hope of our world, but because of you…”

I shook my head. “Wisp told me what to do. I’m no hero.”

“But you are, Tess, you just have to learn to believe in yourself,” said Flora. “You are strong, and braver than any mortal I’ve known. You think you are ordinary, and not equal to the Sidhe just because they possess more skill than you in swordsmanship and such. But you possess things that they cannot learn, no matter how many years they train in their long lives.”

I smiled. “Thanks for the speech, Flora.” Then I sighed. “All right, I won’t tell anyone that you know where the Sword is, but you have to promise me that you won’t hold it from them for too long.”

“When the time is right, we will reveal it,” agreed Lumina. “Thank you, Tess.”

“I’m just too tired to absorb all this right now, or I’d have thought of a better argument,” I grumbled as I unbuckled my sword-belt. I drew my dagger from its sheath and set it on my nightstand.

“There is blood on your dagger!” said Flora. She and Forsythe were by my side before I had time to blink, much less explain myself.

“Must I teach a rogue a lesson?” Forsythe demanded, drawing his own sword with a metallic hiss.

I shook my head tiredly. “No. I took care of the lesson myself.” I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off my boots, too exhausted to care that I had to retell the story. “I ran into the Vaelanmavar on the way to talk to Guinna. He…was very rude to me, and I had to use my dagger.” I grimaced, rubbing my sore feet. “He’ll probably be wearing an eye-patch for a while.”

Flora made a small sound of disbelief.

“Do Sidhe’s eyes regenerate, if they’re cut by a normal blade?” I asked, addressing the room at large.

“Sometimes, if the wound isn’t too grave,” replied Wisp from the desk. “You put out the eye of the Vaelanmavar, Tess?”

“Not intentionally. I slapped him across the face with the flat of the blade, and it just…happened.” I pulled my hair from its bun, separating it into three strands so I could braid it.

“Don’t feel bad,” said Wisp. “The Vaelanmavar is a very nasty sort of Knight. I’ve never liked him,” he added.

“Good to know you approve,” I said wryly, stifling a yawn.

“He treated you with disrespect?” asked Forsythe, still brandishing his sword.

“Yes. But I’m too tired to care anymore, Forsythe. Thanks for your concern, though.” I smiled at him as I tied off my braid. “I need some sleep. I don’t mind if you keep one of the lamps on low, or talk, or do whatever you want. I’ll sleep through it.”

“We will not disturb you, Lady Tess,” said Forsythe, bowing slightly and holding his sword out toward me.

I opened my lips to correct Forsythe—just Tess, I meant to say—but my eyes drifted shut inexorably as I lay back in my bed, and I finally surrendered to sleep.

Chapter 19

I awoke from sleep with a start, sitting up and rubbing one palm against my eyes, trying to brush away the haziness from my mind. But then I looked around, and saw that I wasn’t in my room at Darkhill anymore. I was sitting on a grassy knoll in the warm sun, and I wasn’t in my nightgown, either, instead wearing soft tawny leggings and a brightly colored tunic, blue as a robin’s egg. I rubbed the soft fabric between two fingers, resisting the urge to pinch myself to see if I really was still dreaming. I stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of my tunic, checking my belt for a dagger that wasn’t there. But despite my dagger’s absence and the lack of my sword’s comforting weight against my hip, I only felt a twinge of concern instead of panic. That was how I knew I was still somehow dreaming.

“Hello, Tess.”

I don’t know if the voice was actually a voice, if the words were spoken aloud or if they were simply in my head. In any case I turned toward the speaker, who stood a few paces away from me on the green hill.

“I’ve seen you before,” I said, “in my vision, when I first came to Darkhill.”

“Yes,” she replied, the sun lighting her bright golden hair like a saint’s halo. White daisies were woven into her gleaming braid, crowning her with their innocent petals.

“Your lips aren’t moving,” I said in fascination. I nodded in satisfaction. “This is definitely a dream.”

Titania laughed, her beautiful face lit by mirth. I marveled at the difference between her and Mab, how cold her counterpart in the Unseelie Court seemed compared to the Bright Queen.

“I have forgotten that mortals do not put much stock in dreams anymore,” she said teasingly, this time moving her lips as she spoke.

“Apparently there’s a lot that both mortals and Sidhe have forgotten over the years,” I replied.

Titania smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the front of her vibrant green gown. The golden belt around her hips bore the likenesses of delicate daisies as well, a hand-wrought counterpoint to the fresh flowers in her hair. “You are perceptive, Tess. And I must tell you that my good Glasidhe Glira arrived in my Court just the other day to tell me about you.”

“I thought Glira owed allegiance to the Unseelie Court,” I said.

“The Glasidhe, as they would readily tell you themselves, no doubt, owe allegiance to no one,” replied Titania. When I nodded, she continued. “The Glasidhe sense mortals far differently than we do. They can tell the most delicate details, when they put their mind to it.” The Bright Queen settled gracefully onto the grass, and motioned with one of her beautiful slender hands for me to join her. I sat down beside her, feeling distinctly large and clumsy next to her effortless elegance.

“Glira told me that you were very different from any mortal she has encountered in recent years,” said the Queen.

I wanted to ask Titania if she’d really been captured by Malravenar. I wanted to ask her if my visions were really visions, or if they were just dreams. I wanted to ask her if Molly would still be my friend, because somehow it seemed like she would know the answer to any question I could ask. But even as each question rose in my mind, it sank down again as small waves of contentment washed over me. I looked at Titania, trying to decide whether she was playing some sort of mind-game with me, if she was trying to access my mind just as Mab had done, but in a gentler and perhaps more dangerous way.

“Do not look so suspicious, my dear Tess,” said Titania gently. Her eyes, green as the grass on the hillside, looked earnestly into mine. “Is it so horrible to feel contentment and rest your worries for a small while?”

I blinked and took a breath. “I feel like it’s a trick.”

Titania shook her head, a slight sadness suddenly touching her face. “You have spent so little time with us, and yet you are so wary. This is what our world has come to, in these recent times.”

Somehow I felt guilty for the sadness passing over Titania’s beautiful face, so I leaned back on my elbows and let my mind ease into the light happiness still rippling about the Seelie Queen. She gazed at me and then a small smile graced her lovely mouth.

A white daisy sprang up from between the blades of grass in front of Titania, unfurling its white petals in the time it took me to raise my eyebrows. The Queen reached out and delicately plucked the flower, tucking it behind my ear with a gentle, mother-like touch.

“There now,” she said softly. I smiled in spite of myself. “In truth, you are a very beautiful mortal, Tess. It gladdens my heart to see some of the care lifted from you.”

I felt a hot blush rise to my cheeks: the ethereal Seelie Queen telling me that I was beautiful was slightly embarrassing, perhaps because I felt like a crudely cut wooden doll next to her porcelain perfection. “Thank you,” I said awkwardly, the words sticking to my tongue like wool.

Titania smiled a little again. “But of course, I have not come to you to speak about your beauty, Tess O’Connor, as true as the stories may be.”

What stories? I wondered briefly before Titania continued.

“Malravenar has begun his attacks,” said Titania gravely. “He has been testing our defenses for some time, and now it has begun.” She looked at me. “I am sorry to have to do this to you, Tess, but you must understand the urgency of our situation.”

And before I could say anything, she took my hand and stood. I stood with her and the peaceful green hillside wavered, dissolving under our feet. I felt my hand tighten involuntarily on Titania’s as the bucolic scene disappeared. Suddenly some invisible force thrust us out into a world of smoke and ash, smeared at the edges with the orange and red of flames. I tried to remind myself that I was dreaming, but the smoke stung my throat and my eyes watered. I coughed, using my free hand to pull my shirt up over my mouth and nose. As I watched, dark shapes moved through the hazy smoke. The charred ribs of what must have been a great hall stood out starkly against the gray sky, pieces of colored glass glittering in the ruins of the building. Then the sounds reached my ears, the last piece of the scene to accost my senses: inhuman sounds, grunts and growling and cackles of joyless mirth. I clenched my teeth against the sudden tide of fear rising in my throat as I recognized the carrion stench, the deep growls. I took an involuntary step backward as a huge shape loomed abruptly in front of us, moving through the drifting smoke like a specter. Only Titania’s firm grip on my hand kept me from falling as I stumbled.

I stared in horror. It was a garrelnost, but even larger than the one I’d fought on the dusty road in Texas. I wasn’t even as tall as this beast’s legs. I gagged and hitched in a breath as the terrible reek of death rolled off its gory, matted fur. “Can it see us?” I asked Titania hoarsely.

The Faerie Queen gazed up at the awful beast calmly, her white skin shining like marble through the grime of the smoke. “No, it cannot see us.”

As the garrelnost prowled forward, its every step shaking the ground beneath my feet, I saw that a rider sat atop its misshapen shoulders. The rider was about the size of a person, wearing all black. I couldn’t see its face, and then realized it was wearing a mask without even eye-slits, a mask of some dead black material that reflected no light, and seemed even to draw light into it, sucking away what little illumination remained in the desolate scene. In one hand the rider held a whip of leather-like material, with small spiked balls attached to the end of each strand; and in the other it held a long blade. A dark blue-black substance dripped from the edge of its sword, and with a sickening sinking of my stomach I realized that the rider’s sword was covered with Sidhe blood.

“What is this place?” I asked Titania in a whisper, transfixed by the sight of the huge garrelnost and its gruesome rider.

“This,” Titania said sadly, “was the Saemhradall—the Summer-Hall, the jewel of the Bright Coast.”

“Not like Darkhill is to the Unseelie Court?” I breathed.

“No,” replied Titania. She didn’t look at me as she spoke, her hard gaze taking in the destruction laid bare before us. “Brightvale is yet untouched. But…the Saemhradall was a beautiful place, a place where many of my people came to rest their cares and seek healing.”

Suddenly the horrible sounds of the Shadow-creatures doubled, the growls and snarls swelling in a terrible crescendo. Titania stiffened beside me as a humanoid figure, masked like the rider, emerged from the shadows, thrusting before it a young Sidhe woman whose hands were bound cruelly behind her back. My stomach twisted as I glimpsed her face. If she had been human, she would have been fifteen or sixteen. Ash smudged her face and her gown looked like it had been white once, but greenish gore soaked the fabric. Not Sidhe blood, I knew, so it must have been the blood of the horrible creatures. Her hair was white-gold, almost the same color as that of Titania: she was a member of the Seelie Court, one of Titania’s subjects.

The sound of the scene wavered, coming in swaying spurts as if we were underwater. I saw the Sidhe girl bare her teeth in a defiant snarl, her beautiful youthful face shining like a flame through the murky shadows. She struggled a little as the masked Shadow-servant pushed her forward again, prodding her with the tip of his blade. As the garrelnost-rider slid down from its gruesome steed, I knew with a cold feeling that they were going to kill the Sidhe girl.

“Titania,” I said in a quiet voice, “are you going to let her die?”

“It is not within my power to save her,” Titania said, her voice shaking with rage and sorrow.

“Give me my sword,” I said, clenching my fists.

“I cannot, Tess.”

“So you brought me here to watch her die?” I demanded, feeling my lips pull back in a snarl of my own as I faced Titania.

“The Bright Court’s power has fallen under the Shadow,” Titania said.

The rider advanced on the Sidhe girl. The Shadow-servant behind her kicked the back of her legs cruelly, forcing her to her knees. I could see her lips moving—was she speaking a spell, or cursing the evil about to take her life? Her eyes blazed with defiance and hatred as she looked up at the rider holding the bloody blade.

“I can’t watch this,” I growled, feeling the tide of anger rising in me again. Titania might be the Queen of the Seelie Court, but who was she to drag me through hell in my own dreams? The rage burned hotter within me, fueled by the thoughts of Mab rifling through my most precious memories, binding me here to the Fae world until I satisfied her, taking away my best friend to save their world.

Titania remained silent beside me. I added her cold silence to the fire. I didn’t fight it, letting it course through my veins, turn my eyes into burning coals, a pulsing ember replacing my heart in my breast. I would not be helpless anymore.

And then I realized that the anger was something different entirely. I didn’t understand why, but I knew suddenly that I was more powerful than Titania in this half-dream, standing among the ashes of the Saemhradall. Something in the bones of the great hall called to me, brightening my rage, turning it into ropes of shining light that I felt within me. It was no longer anger for anger itself—it was the knowledge that I was no longer helpless and I did not even understand myself.

“Embrace it, Tess,” said Titania, a strange satisfaction and excitement coloring her voice. “Do not fight it.”

The rider stepped forward, and the Sidhe girl was struggling, tears streaming down her cheeks but her face still a mask of hard defiance, like a she-wolf caught in a trap that sees the hunter approaching. The Shadow-creatures’ strange language reached fever pitch as the blade flashed back.

In the blink of an eye, it all changed.

I stepped forward into the smoke and ashes, wrenching my hand from Titania’s unresisting grip, feeling solid and dream-like both at once. I felt the familiar hilt of my sword in my hand and I heard myself yell something in a language foreign to my own ears, the strange light in my veins moving my body, shaping the words with my lips. The rider turned, its masked face betraying nothing. The light in my veins sang in fierce satisfaction as my blade, blazing with a white-blue fire, buried itself in the dark form’s body. The rider growled and snarled, stumbling back, pulling its body off my blade. My arm moving of its own accord, I swung my sword over the Sidhe girl, her bright hair inches below my blade. The sword passed through the second Shadow-servant effortlessly. Unlike its companion, it started to shake as smoke poured out from behind its mask. A blood-curdling shriek emerged from the creature, cut off abruptly as the black cloak collapsed, the mask falling to the ground, balancing on its edge for a moment and then coming to rest on the empty folds of the Shadow-servant’s raiment.

I whirled, sword held ready in guard, expecting an attack from the garrelnost and its rider. Sure enough, the human-like creature gripped the fur of the garrelnost and slithered up into the rude saddle perched high atop its haunches. The hideous beast snarled at me, ropes of saliva dripping from its exposed fangs, stained black with Sidhe blood. The white fire roared within me and I heard a fierce answering snarl, felt my lips pulling back from my teeth. I crouched in front of the Sidhe girl, facing the rider defiantly, Titania nowhere to be seen even though it was she who had brought me into this nightmarish vision. My sword shone with slick black gore, and the detached part of myself noticed that my eyes were glowing with a green fire—not the Fae-spark, but something equally strange and foreign to me.

“One klavhacka bitch means nothing to me,” hissed the Shadow-rider in a strange tongue. The garrelnost growled, tearing at the ground with one massive front paw, and the rider lashed it with the barbed whip until it stood still.

I understood him—for the voice was vaguely masculine, even though it wasn’t much more than a hideous whisper. “Good,” I replied, my voice strong and steady. “Then you will not mind leaving her to me.”

“The klavhacka matters little now,” rasped the rider, satisfaction ringing through his hoarse tone.

And though I did not understand exactly what he meant by that, an intense relief threatened to overwhelm me as the rider turned the garrelnost, the hideous beast prowling away into the curling smoke. I hastily checked all the points of the compass, as Ramel had taught me. With the smoke, I couldn’t see much. I turned to the Sidhe girl. The vision started wavering again. I put out a hand and touched her shoulder, and the lines of her face solidified again. She looked up at me expectantly, her lips moving, but no sound coming out. I frowned, trying to understand her, and then realized that she was impatiently moving her bound hands, asking for me to cut the ropes.

Keeping one hand on her shoulder—I didn’t like the underwater effect—I carefully cut the swollen ropes that bound her hands behind her back. She rubbed the angry red welts around her wrists, and then she bent, rummaging through the ruins of the other Shadow-servant, her lip curled slightly in distaste. When she stood, she held a bright sword. A Sidhe sword, from a dead warrior no doubt, that the Shadow-servant had secreted among its robes.

Just as suddenly as the white fire had filled my veins, it left. I gasped at the abrupt and painful feeling of emptiness: I felt as though the warmth and blood had left my body along with the light, leaving me cold and drained. The girl tried to talk to me, but the scene wavered. The smell of smoke and death faded. She took a step forward, toward me, but then something moved on the periphery of the broken walls. She raised her sword, bounding away over the blackened ashes on light feet, leaving me alone among the ruins of the Saemhradall.

“Titania!” I called out, my voice echoing through the dim, wavering light.

The Seelie Queen’s voice whispered in my ear: “You are no ordinary mortal, Tess. You possess power beyond even my imaginings. Mab is spread too thin protecting her realm, and thus she gave you no second thought.”

I looked around me, but Titania was nowhere to be seen. Still her disembodied voice spoke.

“I, however, have much time to think. I have failed my people, and my crown-sister, and soon our fair world will fall under darkness.”

Whirling again, my sword flashing in the half-light, I shouted at the incorporeal Sidhe Queen. “You’re wrong! It’s Molly who has the power!”

“The fendhionne pales in comparison to you,” said Titania, the sound of her voice moving from one ear to the other—if she were standing beside me she would have been uncomfortably close, purring into my hair as she moved. “You smell of ancient blood and moonlight, sacred stones and holy women.”

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.

“Say what you please,” Titania said, her voice growing fainter. “They have found me out, and I am sure that he will shackle me in dreams as well…farewell, Tess O’Connor.”

Had I heard a slight note of fear in the Seelie Queen’s voice as she had spoken of her captors? I was sure now that the Enemy had captured Titania—the earth beneath my feet shuddered, and a deep rumbling grew louder. There was a sudden whirl of dark shapes and shadows as creatures fled from the ruins, abandoning their spoils as the earth itself protested, splitting open with a thunderous crack. The charred beams of the great vault-like ceiling quivered high over my head, and pieces of ash fell like snow. I ran, picking my way over the carnage without letting myself look properly at the wreckage beneath my feet, still holding my sword in one hand. I felt there and not there—I wasn’t sure if one of the huge falling beams would crush me, or pass right through me like a ghost, and I didn’t want to find out.

I ran toward a fringe of woods at the edge of the clearing that had held the Saemhradall, and when I reached the forest I stopped, turning back. The ruins of the Seelie hall collapsed in a spray of smoke and ash, swallowed by the cavernous fault that was still widening, the earth jolting beneath my feet. I watched breathlessly, sword-tip resting in the loam of the forest, the bright green leaves of the tree overhead trembling. I leaned back against the tree.

“Well, shit,” I murmured to myself, wondering why I was still very firmly planted in my vision. I didn’t particularly like this whole corporeal-manifestation business, especially when the dreams weren’t of my choosing and leaned closer to nightmares. I thought of the garrelnost-rider and suppressed a shiver.

I picked my way through the forest, keeping on the lookout for creepy-crawlies of the nightmare persuasion. The forest was pleasant enough, with sunlight filtering down through the green leaves, the peacefulness a stark contrast to the horrors of the attack at the Saemhradall. I wondered where the young Sidhe woman had fled, and if I would see her again in this dream. I walked for a while and then stopped. I felt insubstantial, but I could still pick up twigs and feel the bark against my skin. I had to concentrate harder to hold larger objects, and after a while my sword grew unnaturally heavy—or I was growing lighter. I stood for a moment and tried to make the vision waver, as it had done back in the ruins, when all the light had gone out of me at once, but I only gave myself an intense headache. I was stuck, half in and half out of a vision that had taken me somewhere into the Seelie realm, corporeal enough to touch things but insubstantial enough to know that I wasn’t entirely there. My half-body seemed to be in better condition than my exhausted physical body, but I still felt tiredness pulling heavily at my eyelids as I wandered through the maze of sun-dappled tree-trunks.

Why had the Shadow-creatures left the forest untouched, if they were so bent on destruction? I wondered idly, hefting my sword again in my hand, trying to get a better grip on the hilt. The sword slipped through my hand, and I growled a few curses as I bent over, relegated to gripping the sword with my right hand. For all intents and purposes I’d become left-handed in the weeks since my arrival in Faeortalam, but the sword didn’t feel as heavy in my right hand. Experimentally I swung the sword in a few lazy passes as I walked, and to my pleasure my right hand seemed to bear no sign of the garrelnost attack on the dusty road in Texas. At least if I had to fight anything else in this half-substantial state, I could use my right hand too.

I paused, my thoughts interrupted by a very faint crackling sound. I sniffed the air and a chill ran through the entire length of my body as I recognized the scent of heavy wood-smoke. The Shadow-servants hadn’t spared the forest, after all. I stood and strained my eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the fire so that I wouldn’t blunder into it—I had no idea if I’d even been walking in a straight line during my musings. I wished fervently that I’d brought the scabbard with my sword when the white fire had overwhelmed me. It was incredibly inconvenient to have to focus on my grip and try to discern the path of the crackling flames.

I knew if I died in Faeortalam, it was the real deal, but what happened if my dream-self—or vision-self, or whatever the hell this was called—got incinerated in a forest fire? Would my sleeping body erupt in flames as well, or would I just be sent back to my physical form, no harm done? I had a creeping feeling that I wouldn’t just pop back into my bedroom if the forest-fire caught up with me in this vision.

Curls of heavy smoke drifted over the forest floor, slightly left of the path that I had been taking. So I hadn’t traveled in a complete circle. I waited for a moment, watching the smoke to make sure it really was coming from that direction and that it wasn’t just drifting…and I was rewarded by a glimpse of jumping orange flames, a blast of heat billowing into me on the slight breeze.

I turned and started running again, as fast as I could with my sword held up and to the side so that if I fell, hopefully I wouldn’t impale myself. A litany of curses spilled out from between my clenched teeth—some generic, most directed at Titania for getting me into this mess. Fortunately I discovered that my dream-body had more endurance than my real body, and being insubstantial had amazing speed benefits. When the breeze blew at my back, I felt it pushing me along, and for a moment I was afraid that I would drift up into the sky on a slip of air, lost in the clouds forever. But that didn’t happen, and I concentrated on not tripping over any of the many obstacles on the forest floor.

Then a small, cheery voice rang out through the trees, and my heart leapt.

“There you are!”

My knees went weak with relief and I had to sit down on a tree-root as Wisp whizzed into view.

“Thank goodness,” I said a little breathlessly.

“No, thank Flora!” Wisp corrected me. “She was the only one with any sense when you went all white and glowing and then you wouldn’t wake up! She sent me to find you, because I’m the best at Walking.”

“Well, I’m glad you found me before the forest-fire could fry me,” I said, pointing with my sword back in the general direction of the fire.

“The fire is far behind you. You are very fast, for an inexperienced Walker,” Wisp said. He was maddeningly unconcerned as he settled on his customary perch. “We didn’t even know you could dream-walk, Tess, why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, sounding more than slightly petulant and a little wounded.

“I’m sorry, Wisp, I didn’t know myself,” I answered truthfully. “I mean, I had some strange dreams when I came to Faeortalam but I didn’t ever do anything in them, and some of what I saw hadn’t even happened yet anyway.”

“Details, details,” huffed Wisp, tugging on my hair. “Come on, then. You’ve been Walking for far too long now. Time for you to get some proper sleep.”

“I don’t know how to get back,” I confessed miserably, spearing a hapless leaf with the tip of my sword. “I tried, and I just made my head hurt.”

“Of course you don’t,” replied the Glasidhe. “That’s why I came to find you, isn’t it? Now come on, follow me.”

I followed Wisp as he drifted beneath the trees, apparently in no hurry. He hovered above a tree-shadow.

“Now, look. It’s simple. You just have to melt into the shadow. Think of it like a door back to yourself—your whole self,” he explained.

“That’s it?” I demanded.

“Well of course,” replied Wisp with an air of explaining something to a young child. “What did you expect, some kind of incantation and colored sparks? Come on now, before Flora gets worried.”

“Right,” I said skeptically. “Just fade into the shadow…because that’s something every good kid learns in school…”

But I thought about the wavering feeling, the disconnection from the vision. I closed my eyes and thought of floating, and fading, and as I stepped into the shadow I felt insubstantial, light as air, and then my vision faded into blackness

Chapter 20

After slipping into the shadow, I felt a distinct rushing sensation, as if I were speeding through a moonless night; and then with a jarring jolt my insubstantial half-form slammed back down into my physical body, a metallic clang accompanying my return. I coughed and sat up, gasping a little as I adjusted to feeling so heavy again. I heard Flora and Forsythe talking to Wisp.

“Well, you finally found her. Where was she?”

“Over the river, in the Bright Court’s lands,” replied Wisp. “Titania took her, I think.”

“Typical of those Sidhe Queens,” said a disapproving voice. That would be Flora.

“Flora,” admonished Lumina gently. “We do not know what duress prompted the Bright Queen to take such measures.”

“She should have asked Tess’s permission,” Flora argued, though her tone was less caustic.

“Aye,” agreed Forsythe, “seeing as how Tess didn’t even know herself that she could Walk.”

“It’s been a very, very long time since there’s been a Walker, and one that’s made her way to Faeortalam too!” Wisp said in a quiet voice that barely contained his excitement.

“Strange that she didn’t know of it herself earlier,” said Forsythe thoughtfully.

“All Walkers come to their power in their own time,” Lumina said, and that effectively ended their conversation.

I sat up and pushed aside the curtains around my bed so that the Glasidhe could see I was awake.

Flora saw me first. “I thought you said she was sleeping,” she said accusingly to Wisp, leaping into the air from her perch atop my desk-chair.

“Well, she should be, at any rate,” said Wisp. “I told her to go to sleep, when I brought her back.”

“I think you need to teach me how to land back in my body a bit softer,” I said, wincing at the hoarseness in my voice. I reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, taking a few swallows to ease my throat’s dryness. “How long was I gone?”

“You were asleep for a bit, and then….we thought you were on fire at first,” Flora said. “But it was just the Walker-power, waking up for the first time in a while. I’ve seen it once before.”

I stretched my legs, wincing at the stiffness. Apparently some of the exertions of my dream-half had somehow caught up to my physical body as well—my arms were still sore from Flora and Forsythe’s sword sessions, and I hadn’t felt that in my vision, but there was a new, sharper soreness in my sword-arm on top of the dull aches of healing muscles. My legs were sore from my sprint through the forest. I pulled my braid over my shoulder and held it out to Flora.

“Do I smell like smoke to you?” I asked.

She drifted forward and after a moment said, “A little. The scent is faint, and I probably would not have noticed if you hadn’t asked, but it is there.”

“Great,” I said wryly. “I get to drag stuff back through my dreams too. That’s just awesome.”

I saw Wisp and Flora exchange a glance, the sort of look that parents swap when they’re trying to decide how to handle a recalcitrant child at bedtime.

“You should really get some sleep,” Flora said.

“I don’t really want to sleep right now,” I said. A jaw-cracking yawn distorted my last few words.

“You don’t want to Walk again,” Wisp corrected me gently.

After a moment I said, “Yeah, I’d rather stay right here. I’d like to sleep, but how am I going to know that Titania or someone else won’t drag me back somewhere like a rag-doll? It was pretty easy for her to break into my head.”

“Your mind is very vulnerable when you are asleep,” said Wisp. “It’s very easy…that’s how I came to you first. I thought I sensed it in you, but that’s a story for another time. Now you should sleep.” He landed on the quilt, dimpling the fabric with his slight weight. “I’ll stand watch. If someone tries to bring you anywhere, I will wake you.”

I looked at Wisp skeptically. “No offense, Wisp, but you really think you can stand up to someone like Titania?”

Wisp puffed out his chest. “Bigger isn’t always better.”

I chuckled a little—Wisp had picked up that expression from his journeys in the mortal world, from the looks that Flora and Forsythe gave him. I think Flora rolled her eyes, but I wasn’t completely sure. I leaned back, letting myself sink a little deeper against my pillow. “How can I go to sleep after all that?” I wondered out loud, talking more to myself than any of the small faeries. I shook my head. “What the hell is going on with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you, if that’s what you are thinking,” said Flora fiercely, landing emphatically on my knee. “Just because this power has only now appeared doesn’t mean it hasn’t always been a part of who you are.”

I leaned my head back. “I guess. It’s kind of crazy though. I mean, I didn’t think I was anything special. I was perfectly fine with what I had to work with, and then Titania had to drag this out of me.”

“It would have come out sooner or later. Many Walkers use their powers unwittingly when they are children, and then they forget, or they think they just had very vivid dreams. When they are older, and wiser, they realize what they really are.”

My mind caught hold of the threads of a distant memory, one pushed so far back into the curve of my skull that it was hard to draw it out. The frayed threads kept slipping away from me, tantalizing. I knew somehow that it was a very important memory. I felt my forehead wrinkle with the effort.

“Don’t try too hard,” Flora said, moving her hand in reassuring circles on my knee.

“I think I remember…using it,” I said quietly. “Before Dad died. I went and played in a garden with blue roses, and there was a beautiful woman who taught me how to jump rope. I’d never been able to do it before, and I was so excited.”

The Glasidhe sat silently, listening.

“It felt—different, in the garden,” I continued, letting my thoughts lead my words. “Like I was in a world all my own. I loved the feeling. There was the beautiful woman—I called her the White Woman, because her hair was so golden it was almost white—and there was a boy older than me that came with her sometimes, with red hair.”

I sat very still, hoping that maybe my mind would follow suit—but memories were racing behind my eyes at breakneck speed, flashing by like trees from the window of a fast car—and then there were the feelings that came with the memories, threatening to overwhelm me. I heard myself gasping, and the glows talking tersely to one another, small hands at my knees and on my face and tracing the curve of my ears.

“Tess, Tess, Tess,” I heard Wisp say in my ear. “Say it, say it and you’ll know. You can’t fight it. I should have told you the first night, I saw it in you and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry, Tess!”

The wretched sadness in Wisp’s voice drew me back out of the raging whirl of memories. “It’s all right,” I said breathlessly. “It’s all right, Wisp.”

“No, it’s not all right,” Wisp said into my ear, “but thank you for saying such a thing.”

“Did it make you feel better?” I said, blinking and breathing hard. How had I not remembered the blue rose garden, all these years? And the White Woman, and the boy? The boy who had really been a young man, I realized, but he’d played my games with me all the same, not caring that they were childish.

“Of course,” Wisp said.

“If you say what you know out loud,” Flora said, “you might have a better time of it.”

“If I say it out loud,” I said in a suddenly wobbling voice, “it will make it real.”

“It is all very real anyway,” Forsythe said seriously but gently.

I drew my legs up to my chest, encircling them with my arms. Flora and Forsythe relocated themselves to my kneecaps, and Wisp stood on my shoulder. Lumina sat at the edge of the bed, shadowed by Galax.

“I think,” I said slowly, “that I was Walking when I was younger. The White Woman…she was a Sidhe from the Bright Court.” I drew a slow breath. “And the young man was Ramel. That’s why I felt like I’d met him before.”

“When did you stop remembering it?” Wisp asked quietly.

“After my dad died,” I said. “Somehow I couldn’t get back to the garden…all I could think was that the roses would be dead…and they reminded me of the wreaths on his casket.” I shuddered at the vivid memory, flooding back with force.

“You were no longer a child,” Lumina said from the edge of the bed, “and you had no teacher.”

“We should have found you,” Wisp said. “Or the Lady should have sent us to you.”

“How was it that the White Woman—whoever she was—how was it that she wasn’t breaking the High Code?” I asked slowly.

“I don’t rightly know,” replied Lumina, “but I suspect that this rose garden was a place between the two worlds, not entirely within Faeortalam and not wholly a part of Sionntalam.”

“Ramel has some mortal blood,” I said thoughtfully.

“That would let him move between the two worlds…not necessarily following the High Code, but it would be easy for him,” Flora said.

We sat in silence for a few moments. I couldn’t fully process everything yet, so I asked the first question that popped into my head: “Did my sword come back with me?”

“Fortunately yes,” replied Flora dryly, “but it almost cut Galax in half when it fell out of thin air.”

Galax made a noncommittal sound.

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “That’s another thing I’ll have to learn.”

“All in due time,” said Flora. She cleared her throat. “I think it would be best if you tried to sleep now, Tess. You were Walking for a good while, and sometimes that can pass as sleep, but not with your partial manifestation. That takes a great amount of energy.”

The Glasidhe took to the air, leaving me free to snuggle down under my quilt again.

“I have absolutely no idea what you just said,” I told Flora with a yawn, “but I’m sure you’re right.”

“I am,” Flora replied with a flourish of her wings.

“Someone,” I said, sleep dragging at my words, “someone should go tell…that Titania was captured…and the Saemhadrall was destroyed…”

I distantly heard grim murmurings from the Glasidhe, but Flora’s voice cut over them. “We will take the message,” she said reassuringly.

“Thanks,” I murmured drowsily, my body finally succumbing in its battle against exhaustion. I felt a small weight settle down onto my pillow. I opened one eye blearily and saw Wisp sitting straight-backed by my head, his expression determined. With a slight smile, I closed my eyes and slipped into the comforting softness of sleep, drifting on dark dreamless tides.

Chapter 21

True to his word, Wisp let no one disturb my sleep. When I woke I had no memories of any dreams at all, much to my relief. I turned my head and there was Wisp, sitting cross-legged next to my pillow on the bed just as he had when I’d gone to sleep, his aura pulsing softly. I yawned and scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of one palm. Light filtered softly through the curtains drawn around my bed, painting shadows around me.

“How long did I sleep?” I asked Wisp in a gravelly voice. I winced at the stiffness in all my limbs.

“Almost a full day,” Wisp replied, hovering above the bed now. “We fetched you some food. Manifestation is very difficult and exhausting, even for experienced Walkers, and you brought your sword with you as well.”

I yawned again as I leaned forward, stretching my legs. As the vague tiredness of a long sleep receded, I realized that despite my sore muscles, I felt very well rested. I swung my legs out of bed and drew back the curtains.

“How are you feeling?” Flora asked concernedly.

“A little sore,” I admitted, dropping my arms down as I touched my toes. “But other than that, I actually feel really good.”

“Well,” said Flora.

“What?” I said, looking at her in confusion.

“You feel quite well, not good,” the Glasidhe said with an air of primness.

“Among her many hobbies, my sister feels the need to study grammar,” Forsythe said dryly from my desk, where he was sharpening his sword with a miniscule stone.

“And I learn new things about faeries every day,” I said in an undertone as I opened the doors of my wardrobe. I grabbed a green shirt and a pair of fawn-colored trousers, slipping behind the curtain of the shower-area as I pulled my sleeping-shirt over my head. After a moment’s consideration, I decided that a shower was definitely in order.

I felt a vague sense of relief as the warm water washed the smoke out of my hair—I wasn’t sad to part with the last reminder of my harrowing journey into the Seelie lands.

“Tess, may I please come in? I won’t look, but I must talk to you,” said Flora.

“We’re both girls,” I said. “Doesn’t bother me. And there’s a shower-curtain anyway.”

Flora laughed a little, her voice becoming clearer as she slipped inside the curtained niche. Then she became serious again. “Tess, there’s something I must tell you.”

I worked the bar of soap between my hands, watching the lather build up and cascade over my fingers. “All right.”

“We did as you asked, which is what should have been done,” Flora began. “I went to a lady of the Court who said she knew you. I found her in the garden.”

“Good,” I said. “Guinna was a good person to tell.”

“I told her of the destruction of the Saemhradall, and the capture of Titania.” Flora paused, and when I was silent she continued. “She said that she wished a Knight were here, one of the Named that you both knew.”

“Finnead,” I said, his name sending a strange shiver through the deepest part of me. I scrubbed my elbows intently, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in my stomach.

Flora paused again, the sound of my suddenly intense scrubbing filling the silence.

“Guinna told me,” Flora said quietly, “that she went to the Queen.”

“So Mab knows of my powers,” I said, trying for an indifferent tone and for the most part, I thought, succeeding.

“Yes,” replied Flora. She sounded apologetic. “I am sorry, Tess. There was no other way to show them that I wasn’t just spinning a wild tale. The Sidhe seem to think the Glasidhe are prone to fantasy…which we are at some times,” she admitted, “but not in times such as these.”

“It’s all right, Flora,” I said, standing beneath the hot stream of water, letting it rinse away the soap and soothe my suddenly agitated mind. “She would’ve found out sooner or later, in any case.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps not,” the Glasidhe replied. “I am sorry if I betrayed your confidence.”

“You didn’t betray anything, Flora. You did what you thought was best. For all we know, Darkhill may be Malravenar’s next target, now that the Bright Court is in danger of falling.”

Flora remained silent as I shut off the flow of water. After wringing my hair, I pushed back the curtain and reached for the towel hanging on a wrought-iron hook. I wrapped the towel around myself and stepped into the niche. Flora sat perched on the back of the chair on which I’d laid my folded clothes. She politely averted her eyes, wings moving idly like those of a balanced butterfly. Her careful silence aroused my suspicion as I dressed. Rubbing the towel over my wet hair, I waited patiently. Flora avoided my gaze.

“Flora,” I said softly, “is there something else I need to know?”

“The rescue party hasn’t returned,” she said quietly, “and there is reason to believe that they have been attacked as well.”

My stomach dropped sickeningly. Donovan, Ramel, Emery, Finnead—were they all alive, or had they fallen at the hands of the Shadow?

“Just because they haven’t returned doesn’t mean anything bad has happened,” I said firmly, half to Flora and half to myself to push down the disquieting uneasiness wrapping around my spine.

“One of the healers with them was a Walker,” Flora explained. “It is a common enough talent in the Sidhe. It is very unusual for a mortal to possess it.”

“Okay,” I said, “so what? I don’t really care that it’s rare for me to be a Walker. What happened?”

“It’s usually customary for a patrol to check in every day with the Knight that has remained at Darkhill,” explained Flora.

“How do you know all this?” I asked. “I thought you were at your own court at the Three Trees with Lumina for most of your life.”

“I was a part of the court at the Three Trees,” allowed Flora, “but I’ve traveled with Unseelie patrols before. When relations between the Sidhe and the Glasidhe were easier, before the great Shadow began seeping from the Deadlands, we served as scouts for patrols. And we are long-lived as the Sidhe, Tess.”

“Fine.” I didn’t like hearing the edginess in my own voice, and the nervousness growing in my belly made me anxious. If there was one thing that I’d learned in Faeortalam, it was that more often than not my gut feelings were right—and I hoped fervently that this time would be the exception. “So what happened?”

“After I had told Guinna about the attack on the Saemhradall, the Walker appeared to give the Vaelanmavar the customary report. I was not there, but I was told that something went horribly wrong. The Walker…he…vanished.”

“Meaning that he died,” I said grimly.

“Yes,” whispered Flora. “And the Vaelanmavar told the Queen, but Mab ruled that she could not risk the lives of any more of her knights or guards until the fendhionne was ready to ride into the Deadlands.”

“She’s not sending them help,” I said quietly.

“They are on their own,” affirmed Flora.

I swore under my breath while I braided my hair, pulling the braid tighter than necessary. The almost-painful tug of my hair as I plaited the three pieces somehow calmed me, keeping my anxious anger at Mab under control until I was ready to face it. “And how long until Molly is ready to ride into the Deadlands?” I asked.

Flora remained silent.

“Flora,” I said, “how long?”

“I don’t know,” the glow answered finally.

I growled in frustration, until an idea occurred to me. “Does the Queen still trust the Vaelanmavar?”

“Why would she not?” Flora responded in surprise. “She would strip him of the Mavarbranr if she did not trust him as one of her Three.”

“Well,” I said, “Mab may trust him, but I don’t. How do we know he’s not setting up that patrol?”

“Why would he want to do such a thing?”

“He hates Finnead. I think he’d like to see him dead. When he…when I talked to him the other night, he called Finnead an upstart. I think he’s jealous.”

“Jealousy can be deadly,” said Flora thoughtfully. “But with the threat of Malravenar, there is no time for petty rivalries.”

“Tell that to the Vaelanmavar,” I said. I thought hard. “What are the limitations on Walking? Can I go out and try to find the patrol?”

“You must speak to Wisp about that,” said Flora. “I have seen Walker-power before, but I don’t know specifics. I wasn’t blessed with the gift.”

“Gift,” I snorted as I pushed aside the curtain and strode out into my room. “Wisp,” I said as I found socks and began pulling on my boots.

“Yes?” Wisp said, hovering at eye-level.

“Can I Walk wherever I want? What are the limitations?”

“If you are thinking about going out after the patrol,” Wisp said, “that is a very bad idea. Even if you were experienced, you must know where you are going. You must have an image in your head, or you must have another take you there. Otherwise you may be lost in the ether.”

“The ether?”

“The between-place, the Walker-paths,” said Wisp. “It is between reality and dream, the place from which the taebramh flows. That’s the basis of your power, you know, our power, Tess. The taebramh.”

I remembered the pulsing veins in the wall outside the healing-room, and Allene’s admonishment when I’d been about to touch them out of curiosity. Now I wondered whether I was so drawn to that flowing white fire because it called to something in me, the same something that Titania had unleashed.

“But Sidhe Walkers draw on the taebramh that is already here,” Wisp continued. “Most Sidhe can become Walkers if they really try. Mortals, on the other hand, do not have the innate ability. And you, Tess…you are different. You make the taebramh.”

“What?” I stared at Wisp in confusion, thinking that I misheard him.

“Certain mortal souls…they make the taebramh. They are like a well, a source of power. Once they are unleashed…they are very powerful.” He paused gravely. “Almost as powerful as the Queens themselves. There has not been a mortal Walker in centuries.”

I blinked. For some reason, part of what Guinna had said to me in the garden came floating back into my mind:

“Her name was Gwyneth, and she was a very powerful priestess. One you might call a sorceress…Come to think of it, there’s something of her about your eyes…and your limbs. She was tall, just as you are, and she could handle a bow like no other mortal I’ve seen…Then again, that was at least five hundred years ago, in your time.”

“How many centuries, exactly?” I asked Wisp carefully.

Wisp flew in a contemplative circle before answering. I sat very still, waiting. “Four, maybe five.” He hovered in front of me for a moment. “Now that you have reminded me of her…your eyes…”

“I look like her,” I said shakily. “Guinna told me that, the night we talked in the garden.”

“Priestess blood runs strong,” Lumina said suddenly. “Even through centuries. And the power waits. It sleeps, until the right moment, until the right child.”

“So I might be a descendant of this priestess?” I asked.

“You are strong enough to be her daughter,” answered Lumina. “I remember her. She was the most powerful Walker to come to the Courts. There were other Walkers in her time, because the taebramh ran strong in the people of her island, but none as strong as she.”

I shivered a little. “And what did she do…while she was here?”

The Glasidhe remained silent.

I stood, trying to stop the trembling of my hands by clenching them into fists. “Please answer me. What did she do?”

After a long moment, Forsythe spoke. “She was the last Bearer of the Iron Sword.”

I sat down, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of me.

“She was also a friend of the Glasidhe,” added Flora, “just as you are, Tess.”

I shook my head. “How did no one know? Don’t the Sidhe remember her?”

“Sidhe memories are long, but many were young when she was here, more interested in taking mortal lovers and seeking pleasure in life.” Lumina drifted upward. “The Courts were not always as grave as they are now. They were once a place of merriment, with little care and little thought to the future.”

“And now that they might not have a future, they aren’t so fun anymore,” I said grimly. I sat back in the chair. “So if I am a descendant of this Gwyneth, can I do more than Walk?”

“Perhaps,” said Lumina carefully.

“Like what? What else could she do?” I sat forward, leaning my elbows on my knees, watching the Glasidhe intently.

“She was a powerful sorceress, as well as a Walker,” said Lumina. “She could call upon the power of the taebramh in her waking.” The Glasidhe princess paused. “There are precious few Sidhe that possess that power, and even fewer mortals.”

“Right,” I said with a deep breath. “Call upon the power of the taebramh while I’m awake. I don’t suppose she left an instruction manual?” I asked hopefully.

“There might be some of her writings in the Great Library,” said Wisp thoughtfully, much to my surprise. “But then again…they might have been burned.”

“Why would they have been burned?” I asked. Wisp looked away. “Wisp,” I said in a cajoling voice. “Please tell me. I need to know.”

“The blame for the loss of the Sword,” said Wisp slowly, without his usual mischievous tone, “is often placed upon her. Elizabeth, while the Queens gave her the power of the Sword, was not rightly the Bearer. Ultimately, it was Gwyneth’s responsibility. She was banished from Faeortalam when the Sword was lost.”

A prick of painful empathy stabbed at my heart as I thought of what it must have been like for Gwyneth, banished from the world that she had vowed to serve by being the Bearer of the Iron Sword.

“And because the Sword was lost,” continued Wisp, “the two Sidhe Queens became estranged, and their power waned.”

I blew out a breath. “So basically, they blame my ancestor for everything that’s wrong with their world.”

Wisp shrugged a little. “Her name has faded into memory, unless it is brought up by those that knew her. Five centuries, even to the Sidhe, is sufficient time to forget.”

“But not forgive,” I said heavily, wondering what had happened to Gwyneth. Had she grown weary of the burden of power, and disappeared into the mortal world? Clearly she had children, or else I wouldn’t be imbued with her power. “Do you know if her children were half-Fae?” I asked suddenly.

“She had no children while she was Bearer,” Lumina answered, her voice firm, much to my relief. “Which is why no one thought to look for her descendants.”

“But she was in the mortal world the whole time Elizabeth had the Sword, wasn’t she?”

“Yes. It is most likely that she had children during that time.”

“Mortal children,” I said with a vague sense of relief.

“We would have sensed you much earlier, if you were Fae,” Flora said reassuringly.

My stomach took this opportunity to growl, loudly enough that the Glasidhe could hear.

“You should eat,” said Flora. “We brought you food.”

Sure enough, on my desk there was bread and a cold cut of meat, and cheese, all wrapped in a cloth. I wondered how the Glasidhe had managed to bring all of it from the dining hall, but then decided it would probably be rude to ask. Instead I dug into the meal, letting the savory meat and sweet bread distract me from the jarring revelations of my ancestry. As I ate, I thought of the patrol, and Malravenar, and the Vaelanmavar. By the time I finished the last bite, I had made up my mind. I stood and went to the wardrobe, grabbing my sword-belt from its hook and buckling it around my waist as I picked out two daggers, strapping one at the top of my boot and the other to my upper thigh, hidden by my long tunic. After a moment’s hesitation, I also took the bow that Donovan had loaned me, slinging the strap of the quiver over my shoulder and making sure I had an extra oiled string tucked into my belt-pouch. I took my cloak, an extra shirt and another pair of pants, rolling it up into a neat bundle. I wrapped a sturdy leather belt around it all, buckling it tight.

“Where are you going?” asked Wisp, hovering right over my shoulder.

“To find Guinna and Bren, and then to help the patrol,” I replied. “I’m not just going to sit here when I know I can do something about it.”

“Tess,” said Lumina in a reasonable tone, “you do not even know how to use your powers.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I replied with determination, thinking about the feeling of the white fire in my veins. “I can’t stay here when I know they might be in trouble. And knowing that I do actually have the power to do something about it…well, that makes it a pretty easy decision.” I stood at the door of my chamber. “Princess Lumina, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like. I don’t know whether I’ll be back, so…” I shrugged. “Find Guinna or Bren, if I don’t, and they will make sure you’re shown the proper hospitality.”

A small clanging noise, like coins being tossed together, drew my attention over to my desk, where the Glasidhe had made their makeshift camp. Flora and Forsythe were industriously sheathing all their weapons, and Wisp was busily rolling up what I thought might be miniature versions of the maps I’d shown him before, tucking them into slim little tubes.

Flora faced Lumina. “With your leave, my lady, Forsythe and I would like to accompany Tess.”

“And I as well,” added Wisp.

I held my breath, gratitude suddenly welling up in my heart at the loyalty of the small Fae.

Lumina bowed her head for a moment, Galax standing behind her. “If that is where your heart is, I cannot bind you to me,” she said finally, a bit of sadness in her voice.

“I will do my best to make sure they all come back to you,” I told Lumina, wanting to erase the sorrow from her beautiful features. “Not that they can’t take care of themselves,” I added hastily as Flora fixed me with a baleful look, strapping on her bandolier of small throwing-daggers.

Lumina nodded gracefully. “Galax and I will await your return.”

Galax, true to character, merely gave a nod to Flora and Forsythe as they leapt from the desk to hover by my shoulder.

“Wisp,” Lumina said, beckoning him to her. She leaned so close to him that their auras merged, her delicate pale glimmer mingling with his robust glow. For a moment I thought she was kissing him, but then I realized she was whispering into his ear.

“Yes, my lady,” I heard him say. “When the time is right.”

Wisp bowed, and took Lumina’s hand and kissed it. Galax grunted in disapproval. I smothered a smile as Wisp flew to join Flora and Forsythe.

“All right,” I said to no one in particular. “Ready?”

“We will follow you,” said Forsythe.

“We are ready,” said Flora.

I opened the chamber door and they followed. I shut the door behind me, adjusted the bow on my shoulder and stood in the hallway for a moment, feeling as though I was standing on the edge of a precipice.

“Are you afraid, Tess?” Flora asked me softly.

I grinned. “No,” I said, feeling a strange sort of singing in my bones, “I’m excited.”

And with that, I set off down the hallway to find Guinna and Bren, to tell them that I would be leaving Darkhill and plunging into a world unknown, strafed with shadow and blood. And I was excited about it.

Chapter 22

“Be reasonable, Tess,” said Guinna in a low voice.

I resisted the urge to shift on the bench, meeting her gaze resolutely. The dining-hall was mostly empty, the time of day being between breakfast and lunch. All the same, I was attracting a few curious glances. The Glasidhe had agreed, after a little cajoling, to hide in my quiver and damp their glows. I didn’t want to arouse more suspicion than absolutely necessary, although I supposed I could have gone back to my room for my supplies after talking to Guinna and Bren. But my chamber door had closed with such finality, and my parting with Lumina had had an air of sadness that I didn’t want to revisit.

“I’m done with being reasonable,” I replied to Guinna. “There’s very little that’s reasonable about Faeortalam anyway, when you look at it through my eyes.”

Guinna’s delicately bow-shaped mouth turned down in a pretty frown, and her lovely eyes darkened.

“Look, I’m not going alone anyway. I have the Glasidhe with me,” I pointed out, lowering my voice almost to a whisper at the last sentence. “I have my sword and my bow, and apparently I’m the descendent of a crazy-powerful priestess. Sorceress. Whatever.” I put up a hand as Bren opened her mouth to correct me. “I don’t really care about the correct terminology right now. All I know is that for the first time since I’ve come here I can really do something worth doing.”

“You don’t know where the patrol went,” protested Guinna.

“I have my maps. I know the general direction. And there’s two other Glasidhe who followed them for me.”

“You don’t know what types of creatures are out there,” Guinna said.

I narrowed my eyes. She seemed bent on pointing out every possible flaw in my plan. My voice cooled, my words icy and aloof. “When Titania took me to the ruins of the Saemhradall, I saw the Shadow-servants. I put my sword through one of them, and I helped to kill one before I even came to Darkhill. Don’t tell me that I don’t know what types of creatures are out there.”

“The Queen,” said Guinna persistently, “is preparing the fendhionne to take up the Iron Sword. Then the legions of Unseelie warriors will ride out against Malravenar. Wait until then.”

“You sound like you’re quoting from some proclamation,” I said with bitter humor. Guinna looked away. “Oh, so you are quoting from a proclamation.”

“The Queen declared martial law after the destruction of the Saemhradall. She has also declared a necessary pact between Seelie and Unseelie, in the absence of their Queen.”

“So Titania was captured,” I said in an undertone.

Guinna and Bren remained silent. I kept my eyes on Bren: she’d been uncharacteristically quiet during our whole conversation.

“Well,” I said, “I’m sure that this proclamation was very prettily worded and all, but it doesn’t help the patrol or the rescue party to sit here on my ass, especially considering the whole epic-discovery-of-power and all.” My voice dripped sarcasm. Bren flinched when I mentioned the rescue party. “I’m bound here anyway by Mab, so I might as well do something useful, right?” I smiled mirthlessly. “And I’m going to do it whether you approve or not. I just thought we were good enough friends that you’d care.”

I stood, taking care not to jostle my quiver too much. As I turned away, Bren stood hastily, walking around to my side of the table. I stopped and looked at her. I saw Guinna look down, twisting her folded hands in her lap.

“Do you want me to tell Molly anything?” she asked quietly.

I blinked, and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t think so…she doesn’t remember me anyway.”

Guinna remained seated at the table as Bren and I walked away.

“It hurts to lose a friend,” Bren said. “You won’t lose my friendship, Tess.”

We stopped at the long table at the back of the dining hall that held bread, cheese and meats for those who wanted to eat their lunch early or take a meal to their room. I took a cloth napkin and spread it out on the edge of the table. Bren took a napkin, too, and started picking out pieces of bread and cheese.

“Guinna is frightened for Emery and the others,” Bren said softly as she deftly folded the napkin into a cloth packet, pushing it across the table toward me. “Just as I am nervous for Donovan. She wants to help…but being so close to the Queen, sometimes it’s a curse rather than a gift.”

“If the Queen asked her about me, she would have to tell her if she knew where I went, wouldn’t she,” I said, understanding. Some of the vague ache that had been building in my chest receded. So Guinna wasn’t trying to shut me out after all. She was trying to protect me.

“Yes. But more often than not I’m lost in the stacks of the Great Library, and you know how scholars can be….very forgetful sometimes,” Bren said with a wicked grin.

“Of course,” I replied mildly, restraining my own smile.

“But in all seriousness,” Bren continued, stepping a little closer to me so we wouldn’t be overheard, “I’m glad you’re going. I wish I could come with you.”

“Why not?” I asked. I suddenly realized I would be very, very glad for the company, even though I already had the Glasidhe coming with me.

Bren shook her head, pursing her lips slightly. “Martial law is not as it is in your world here, Tess.” She tilted her head a little to the side. “I think you might be able to slip through, but Mab would sense me.” Her eyes grew distant. “I would go out there if I could. I know that something horrible has happened.”

“That’s why I’m going out there,” I replied. “I think they’re in trouble, and I can’t say I understand why Mab refuses to help her own people.”

“If the patrol and the rescue party are indeed lost,” Bren said, her voice pained, “then it will be a great blow to Mab’s power. She cannot afford to lose more of her knights, much less another Named Knight if Finnead—”

“Don’t,” I said sharply.

Bren nodded. “You are frightened for Finnead.”

“I’m not frightened for him. He can take care of himself. I just…I want to make sure everyone is all right.” I took my cloth packet and stacked it on top of the one Bren had made, unbuckling my belt and adding the food to the bundle inside my cloak. After a moment’s thought, I took one of the water-skins on the table and tied it to my belt. It went unspoken that the water-skins should be returned to the dining hall after use, but I thought that one probably wouldn’t be missed.

Bren walked with me as I strode toward the doors of the dining hall. I looked at her questioningly. Her face set, she said, “If you’re set on this, someone has to give you a crash course on riding.”

I grinned a little at her use of slang. She glanced at me, and her lips twitched in an answering smile.

“So this proclamation,” I said as we walked quickly down the passageway. Bren led the way, taking me down unfamiliar and thankfully deserted halls. “I feel like there’s more to it than you’re telling me.”

“Martial law hasn’t been declared since the sealing of the Great Gate,” Bren explained to me, hitching up her skirts with one hand so she could walk faster. “It’s…kind of a big deal, as you would say.” She flashed me a brief smile. “And under martial law, if the Queen says we cannot leave Darkhill…then we cannot leave Darkhill.”

“It’s like the command that forbids you to speak about iron,” I said.

Bren looked at me sharply. “Yes. I suppose it may be compared to that. In any case, there are guards on all the gates. It will be hard for you to pass them.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” I said.

And then came a small courteous voice from my quiver: “Pardon, but it’s getting rather hot in here. May we come out?”

“Sorry, Forsythe,” I said. “Of course.” I paused, holding still until the illumination from the glows’ auras illuminated the dim passageway. As I stood still, I noticed the pulsing glow of taebramh veins in the marble-like wall of the passageway. “Hold on a minute,” I said to Bren, who turned to watch me. I put out a hand. As my fingers got closer to the wall, the veins flared to life, burning with a bright white light. As if from a great distance I heard Bren gasp. She said something in a low voice in the Sidhe tongue, and from the cadence of her voice I guessed that it might have been a sort of prayer.

The singing in my bones made me stand up very straight, as if invisible puppet strings had been pulled taut at my shoulders and the top of my head. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. The taebramh beckoned me. My fingers sank into the wall as if it were a bank of fog, and the veins pulsed and throbbed. Dimly I heard Bren’s murmured prayer fall away into awed silence. The rhythm of the taebramh matched the beat of my heart, and the white light flowed up my arm, snaking around my skin like vines.

And then a voice spoke in my head, a voice different than Mab and Titania, older and with no trace of feminine or masculine differentiation.

It has been long since you have come to me, the voice said in my head, vibrating through my bones.

“I’ve never been here before,” I whispered.

Your blood has been here, replied the voice. And I am not only here.

“What are you?” I asked softly.

I am what I am, and what you are, and all that is.

I laughed a little. “I guess I should have expected an enigmatic answer.”

The voice shifted a little—was it amused too? I know the souls of immortals and mortals alike. I am called differently in every time, in every mind. I know your heart, Tess O’Connor.

“And what do you see there?” I asked, half afraid of the answer.

I see your uncertainty. Do not be afraid. You have the power of worlds in your soul, and you will know how to use it when the time comes. And I see your courage. Your blood runs with the strength of those who came here before you.

“Can you tell me…” I had to pause and take a breath.

I cannot tell you the fate of those you hold in your heart, the voice said almost gently. What shall be, shall be. Do not trouble yourself over all the possibilities in life. There is one path, and it is set before your feet.

“All right,” I said shakily, my vision a haze of silver. “I have to go now…”

Yes, you will go. The voice paused. The south postern gate will be unguarded in exactly one hour.

“Thanks,” I said, and then I pulled my hand out from the throbbing veins of white light. This time, though, the white light didn’t leave me. I felt it pulsing gently in my chest, nestled beside my heart like a living ember. My hand tingled fiercely, like the pins-and-needles of a dead foot, but more intense. When my vision cleared, I found Bren watching me cautiously.

“You were glowing,” she said almost accusingly.

“Told you. Epic power discovery,” I said breathlessly, massaging my hand. I crouched for a minute, pressing my hand between my knees until the sensation started to ebb and I could breathe again. Wisp landed on my shoulder, small hands grabbing my ear for balance.

“You were speaking to the Ancient,” he said in an awestruck voice. “The Source, the Old One.”

“Right,” I said. “I have no idea what any of that means. I spoke to something, and he—she—it was very powerful, I think. Anyway, it said that the southern postern gate would be unguarded in an hour.”

Bren hiked up her skirts again. “Then we have an hour to get to the stables and teach you how to ride. Come on then.”

She started off again down the dim passageway. I glanced at the dimming veins of taebramh one more time before following her, still rubbing at my hand where I felt the vestiges of the ancient voice vibrating in my bones.

I found out quickly that even though Fae mounts looked more delicate than the heavy-boned horses of Pennsylvania farm country, they still smelled very much like horses. Bren made me hide in the shadows at the door of the stables while she made sure there was no one that would jeopardize our secrecy. When she motioned for me to follow her, I stepped as carefully and quietly as I could down the center aisle, trying not to rustle the straw beneath my feet too much. But even with my attempt at stealth, several horses put their heads over the stall doors curiously, watching me with dark, distinctly intelligent eyes. They didn’t whinny or stamp like a normal horse at the intrusion of a stranger into their stables; they merely watched me silently, following my progress down the aisle.

“Creepy,” I said to no one in particular.

“We can help you,” Flora said, hovering just in front of me. “Forsythe and I know their language.”

“Their language?” I asked in surprise.

“They don’t speak, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” Flora said quickly. “But they understand more than you expect, and they understand much better in a particular language.”

“Okay then,” I said. “How does this work? Do I just pick one…or…?” I let the question hang in the air.

“I think for a mission like yours, it would be best to ask for a volunteer,” Bren said with an air of practicality. “After all, it’s rather dangerous out there. You wouldn’t want to take an unwilling mount.”

“Would they be offended if I called them horses?” I asked.

“Slightly. But since you don’t know our language, they will probably forgive you.” Bren set down the tack on a stool, and brushed her hands on her skirt. “Now then.” She put two fingers in her mouth and gave a sharp whistle. The horses that weren’t already at the doors of their stalls slipped their heads out into the passageway, ears raised in attentiveness. Bren spoke in a soft voice in the Sidhe tongue, presumably explaining who I was and what I intended to do. A few horses shook their head and turned around, which I assumed meant they wanted nothing to do with me. At the end of Bren’s explanation, there were five or six horses still listening, out of the twenty or so.

“Not all of them think what you are doing is too risky,” explained Bren. “I asked them to step back if they knew they were not the fastest or strongest, if they knew they were too old to properly undertake such a task.”

I was impressed, and I was about to say as much when Wisp said into my ear, “Don’t say that you’re impressed by how intelligent they are. That would be an insult. Better to just let them sort it out themselves.”

“Oh,” I said, abashed. “I won’t, then. Thanks.”

“Just doing my duty as a loyal sidekick,” said Wisp.

I chuckled. “What makes you think you’re a sidekick? And where in the world did you hear that?”

“In your world, actually,” said Wisp. “Fascinating things, televisions. Can’t see why they’re so captivating for so long, though.”

I shrugged and then apologized when Wisp protested at being thrown off balance.

“All right then,” said Bren, motioning to me. She unbolted the door of a stall, and one of the Fae mounts walked calmly out into the center aisle, turning its head to inspect me. “This is Kaleth, and he knows the path of the patrol. He’s one of the fastest mounts here, and he’s fought in a few battles, so if it comes to that, just hold on.”

Compared to the other horses in the stable—or those I could see, at any rate—Kaleth stood a good head taller than most of them, which I reasoned was good because I would definitely be heavier than the light-boned Sidhe. He was a dark roan sort of color, deep gray and then mottled into a deep blue with touches of black at his hindquarters and hooves. His mane and tail were a coarse black. His gray eyes, an unsettling color for a horse, regarded me steadily as Bren busily strapped on his tack.

“Don’t try to hobble him at night, because if he wants to leave there isn’t much you could do to stop him,” said Bren as she tightened a strap. “He’ll take care of himself as far as food and water.”

I saw that Kaleth didn’t have a coat, like mortal horses. I remembered from the painting in my room the suggestion of scales, and reached out one hand curiously. Kaleth blew out a breath but stood still as I touched his neck. It was dry and smooth, with a hint of scaly texture, but warm, not cold like a snake or other reptile. Bren paused, looked at Kaleth and then continued adjusting straps and buckles.

“Legend says,” she explained, “that your mortal horses mixed their blood with dragon-kin of the Far North.”

My eyebrows shot upward at that thought.

“Don’t ask me to explain the mechanics of it,” said Bren, grinning at me over Kaleth’s back. “It’s just a legend.”

I shrugged. “An interesting one, I guess.” Then I craned my neck curiously. “They don’t have wings, do they?”

“Well,” Bren said, “not anymore.”

Kaleth huffed out a breath—whether he was indignant or amused, I wasn’t sure.

“With your permission,” said Bren to Kaleth, holding something similar to a bridle in her hands. “She isn’t experienced, so I apologize for its use.”

Kaleth lowered his head, letting Bren slip the straps over his head.

“All right,” Bren said briskly. “Here.” She took my bow and quiver, strapping them to the side of the saddle, and showed me how to attach my scabbard. In the end I decided to keep my sword on my belt, even though it might be a bit annoying while riding. I figured the sense of security would be worth it. Bren also strapped the bundle of my cloak, extra clothes and food to the back of the saddle. That, at least, I recognized from reruns of old Westerns on lazy Sunday afternoons.

“One foot goes here,” said Bren, showing me where to hook my toe, “and then just swing over.”

I didn’t know what to do with my hands—I thought it would probably be rude to grab a handful of Kaleth’s mane, and there was no horn on what passed for a saddle. So I just swung my arms and tried to jump off my right leg awkwardly…and ended up in the dirt, with Bren hiding her mouth behind her hand and Kaleth looking at me as if to say, Really?

“Well, sorry,” I said to them both, “I’m not a cowgirl or anything. That would be Molly’s department.” I sobered quickly as I thought of my once-friend, lost in the throes of the war in Faeortalam. Or lost to me, at any rate.

To my surprise, Kaleth knelt, bending his forelegs so that it would be much easier for me to swing onto his back. “Thank you,” I said.

“He is a gentleman,” said Bren with a touch of amusement.

Once I’d managed to get my right foot hooked into the little strap on the other side—Sidhe saddles favored minimalism, I noted—Kaleth stood smoothly and turned his head to Bren.

“You have about fifteen minutes until the south postern gate is open,” Bren told Kaleth, who blew out a breath in reply.

I shifted in the saddle, trying to get used to the feeling of being so high above the ground. I wasn’t afraid, it was just very different. Thankfully, Kaleth’s back wasn’t very broad, and I barely had to stretch my legs to sit in the saddle. It was comfortable, all things considered.

Bren used a portion of our time to show me how to hold the reins. She told me they were really just a formality, and I could really just tell Kaleth where to go if I wanted. And then she paused, standing by my knee.

“Well,” she said. “It’s time for you to go. Five minutes until the gate is clear.” She cleared her throat and took something out from one of her skirt’s hidden pockets, pressing a wrapped object into my hand. “I did some research,” she said quietly, “and this was hidden in the Great Library, with the accounts of Gwyneth. I thought you might like to have it. And it might provide some…protection.”

The object was wrapped in a thick white cloth, slightly yellowed with age and bound several times by a leather thong. The knot of the thong simply disintegrated when I tried to untie it. I unwound the many layers of cloth. In my palm sat a simple charm, about the size of a half-dollar. It was a plain circle, the metal thick and twisted like part of a decorative wrought-iron fence. Coiled in its center was another piece of leather, this one remarkably untouched by age.

“She left it here for a reason,” Bren said with conviction. “From what I have been told, Gwyneth never did anything without a reason.”

“Is it…iron?” I asked quietly.

Bren nodded. “Old iron, too. It’s powerful, from what I could feel.”

I frowned as I threaded the leather through the small circle at the top of the charm. “Did she really hide it that well? I thought Sidhe could sense iron.”

“I think she asked the Ancient to conceal it, until it was forgotten,” said Bren. “But all that matters is that I found it, and I knew I was meant to give it to you.”

I tied the leather necklace around my neck. “It won’t give me away to any Sidhe that are in the area?”

Bren shook her head. “Quite the opposite. Gwyneth thought of that too.”

I took a deep breath, tracing the cool circle of iron against the delicate skin of my throat. “Seems like she thought of almost everything.”

“She was a very powerful woman,” said Bren, “and you should be proud to have her blood in your veins.”

“I am,” I said truthfully.

“It is time,” said Flora, settling onto my other shoulder. Forsythe settled into my quiver again.

“I think she would be proud of you, too, Tess,” said Bren. Before I could reply, she said something to Kaleth in a commanding tone, and the Sidhe mount surged forward, toward the south gate.

I clamped my knees on Kaleth’s sides and gripped the reins with white knuckles.

“Take hold of his mane,” said Flora into my ear. “He will not mind, and he needs no guidance now.”

I dropped the reins and grabbed Kaleth’s mane, crouching down as well as I could to make myself streamlined. Wisp let out a shrill of delight as Kaleth increased his speed, his hooves pounding against the ground, then echoing against the cobblestones as we entered the courtyard. Dimly I heard a few shouts of surprise, but the rushing wind blurred the voices.

I lifted my head, and saw the south gate. The gate stood open, the portcullis raised, its teeth leering from the top of the opening. I had time to think dimly that I hadn’t known that Darkhill had a moat, and then we were flying through the gate, and a weight that I hadn’t known was there lifted from my shoulders.

Flora let out a whoop of joy as Kaleth surged down the dirt path, the cadence of his hooves the only counterpoint to the muffled roar of the air rushing past my ears. And then I felt a smile stretch my face, Gwyneth’s iron circle cool against my throat. I had talked to the Ancient, we had escaped the power of Mab, and I would soon find out the fate of Ramel and Finnead. I had lost Molly, but I had gained Bren as a friend that could be depended upon, and I had discovered the well of white power within myself. All in all, not bad for a day’s work. I grinned and crouched lower on Kaleth’s neck, eager for the adventure ahead.

Chapter 23

After a while, Kaleth slowed from his headlong gallop to a remarkably smooth trot, a pace that I surmised he could sustain for as long as needed. I sat up, and stretched my back, smoothing out Kaleth’s mane where it had become crinkled from my grip. The crisp air tasted fresh on my tongue, wilder than the air I remembered breathing just through the gate, when I had first come into Faeortalam.

I twisted and gazed back the direction we had come, and even though I strained my eyes, I couldn’t see Queen Mab’s palace, not even as a suggestion in the far distance.

“Even with Kaleth’s speed,” said Flora, “we’ll probably have to travel for at least two days before we encounter any sign of the patrol.”

“And that depends on whether they’ve started back toward the Queen’s Keep,” added Forsythe.

“Do you think they have?” I asked.

“We cannot venture a guess,” said Forsythe. “If there was a battle, there will almost certainly be wounded, and that slows a traveling party down significantly.”

A sickly chill slipped down my spine. “Well,” I said, trying to sound brave, “hopefully there aren’t any wounded.”

“Their Walker is dead,” Flora reminded me quietly.

“I know that, and I don’t care,” I snapped. Flora, keeping pace with Kaleth at about my shoulder height, drew up short for a moment, the color of her aura darkening. I flushed guiltily at my rudeness and took a breath. “I’m sorry. Worry makes me tense.”

“Apology accepted,” Flora said smoothly, and the tempo of her wing-beats increased tenfold as she flew off ahead of us down the rutted dirt pathway.

I sighed. I needed all the help I could get, I knew, feeling very alone and very vulnerable out in the wilds of Faeortalam. I hoped I hadn’t offended Flora too deeply, because even though she’d accepted my apology I could tell that she was a little miffed by my rude reply. As Kaleth followed the dirt path farther away from the safety of Darkhill, I let my mind wander, one finger tracing the circle of Gwyneth’s pendant as I thought.

It wasn’t entirely impossible that I was Gwyneth’s descendant, I mused. I’d been told that the taebramh was strong in the people of her island. That probably meant she was Irish. It fit with her name, and I had Irish blood on both my mother and father’s sides of the family. Considering my own surname, that was hard to miss. The more I thought about it, the more it felt…right. I’d wanted so badly for my life to have meaning, and it was that longing that had given birth to my plan to follow in Liam’s foot-steps, earning a commission as an officer after graduation and helping to fight a war that wasn’t really mine to fight. But come to think of it, was this war in the Fae realm mine to fight? Was it my duty to defend Faortalam against the evil of Malravenar? Their world was not my world.

And even as I asked myself that question, the answer was apparent. Of course I would do all I could to defend Faeortalam against Malravenar. I wasn’t duty-bound to fight against him, and I put aside Mab’s binding edict keeping me at the court for the moment. I loved the wild beauty and freedom of the Sidhe world, the exhilarating sense that the constrictions of daily life back in my own world were suddenly gone, like chains lifted from my wrists. I hadn’t realized the weight of others’ expectations until they had disappeared. I had friends, good friends that I trusted more than friends I’d known for years back in Sionntalam. Life was simpler here, more dangerous but more beautiful, and that was a trade I was certainly willing to make, I thought. I was willing to take Faeortalam as my own world, if that meant I could feel the white light singing in my blood, and watch the stars paint their song across the velvety night sky.

When the sun burned high overhead, we stopped so that I could stretch my legs and the Glasidhe could rest their wings. After maybe a quarter of an hour, the Glasidhe and Kaleth became restless, ready to move on, so I let Kaleth kneel and I swung up onto his back, grimacing at the pull on my muscles. Kaleth set off again at a brisk trot, but the forest remained an indistinct smudge on the horizon, and I had the sinking feeling that it was much, much farther away than I’d first thought.

We rode until my legs started stiffening again, the sun beginning its descent. When I looked up, I said with surprise, “The sun is setting toward the East.”

“Ah,” said Flora, “I forget that even the sun sets differently in your world.”

“Do you think anyone has noticed that I’m gone?” I asked.

“Aside from those whom you told, it isn’t likely. Not when the Ancient helped you,” Forsythe answered.

I shifted in the saddle. “Do you mind if we take another break? My legs are starting to hurt again.”

Forsythe seemed dissatisfied but Flora said, not unkindly, “She isn’t a seasoned rider.”

As soon as I swung out of the saddle, my legs began one long scream of protest. I winced and tried to sit down on the grass gracefully, swinging my sword to one side and succeeding only partially as a cramp seized my left hamstring. I rubbed at the muscle and gritted my teeth. When the spasm passed, I leaned back on my hands and took a few deep breaths. “Are we still making good time?” I asked Wisp.

“Most certainly. Your mount—”

“Kaleth,” I supplied.

“—Kaleth,” allowed Wisp, “is very swift. Perhaps because you are not wearing armor, and we are not carrying heavy provisions.” He flicked his wings dismissively. “I know little of such things, though.”

“We are traveling very light,” said Forsythe from above. “And Kaleth is a strong mount.”

Kaleth swished his tail noncommittally and continued grazing close to the path.

“You should eat,” Flora told me.

Now that my legs had settled down, my stomach growled at the mention of food. I grimaced at the thought of standing up.

“Stay,” said Wisp, as if he were talking to a puppy. I stuck my tongue out at him, but was happy enough to stay seated. Wisp and Flora industriously opened one of the saddlebags, and suddenly a piece of bread, a piece of cheese and a strip of some sort of dried meat flew at me in short succession, hurtling through the air as if launched from a slingshot. I laughed in surprise, catching the food easily.

“You have good aim,” I told the Glasidhe. Wisp bowed theatrically and Flora’s musical laugh floated over the air, sweet as church bells. It was good to hear them laugh, but it did nothing to break Forsythe’s grim mood, and we all soon settled back into silence.

As I ate, I thought about what might lie ahead. The patrol was already attacked, and most likely the rescue party as well. I bit into my piece of bread vengefully, wishing that I had discovered my powers a little earlier so that I could have gone with them. But then, I thought, I might have been the Walker that was killed. I would have had to report to the Vaelanmavar every evening, and the thought of standing before him, even in my insubstantial Walker-form, made my skin crawl. Part of me still fervently hoped that I was wrong about the Vaelanmavar, despite my intense dislike of him; but part of me knew that he was a poisonous man with anger in his heart, and he would probably stop at nothing to avenge himself of those whom he thought had done him wrong.

A new thought struck me, and chilled me to the bone. If the Vaelanmavar was indeed treacherous, had he taken his revenge on Finnead and the rest of them because I had refused his advances? I frowned unhappily, toying with the last of the dried meat as I mulled over the unpleasant idea.

“Why do you look so sad?” Flora asked with a touch of concern. “We have not found anything out for certain.”

“I just thought…if the Vaelanmavar is really setting this patrol up, do you think he would do it just to spite me?” I asked quietly.

After a moment, Flora replied, “If he did, there’s nothing for it now except to try and help as best we are able.”

I nodded. “That makes sense. But I can’t get that idea out of my head. I would never be able to forgive myself.”

“There would be nothing to forgive,” Flora said fiercely. “You cannot control the doings of evil men. That is the same here as it is in your world.”

The driver of the car that had killed my father had had a hefty amount of points on his license, two other instances of drunk driving and he had never served any jail time—until after he had taken my father away from his family. The bitter bile of injustice was a taste I knew well, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I sat for a few more moments, and then stood. “Let’s go.”

I already knew I was going to be sore the next day, so I reasoned that good time was better than trying to favor my unhardened body. After I clambered heavily into the saddle, feeling about as coordinated as an elephant, Wisp settled onto my shoulder. Flora, after murmuring something into to Kaleth and listening for a moment, sat cross-legged between the horse’s ears, grasping his forelock in her tiny hands. It would have been comical if the grim situation had not been pressing down on us heavily. Forsythe took up his post behind the saddle, on my cloak-roll.

“I’m ready when you’re ready,” I said to Kaleth, and without any further prompting he set off at his customary brisk pace.

As the sun rode low in the eastern sky, our long shadow raced along the ground next to us, stretching out like a specter from Kaleth’s hooves. I bit my lip as my tender muscles began to ache in earnest, reminding myself that time was of the essence, and it wouldn’t be any easier riding tomorrow. I wasn’t going to become road-hardened overnight, so I would have to accept some sore muscles. As we rode and I got used to the rollicking rhythm of Kaleth’s gait, I let my mind wander a bit. I wondered if I could call up the white fire at will. Wisp had said that my soul made the taebramh that was the source of my power, so it would stand to reason that it would be available to me whenever I called upon it.

I tried merely thinking about it, and my fingertips itched vaguely, as though I were holding my hands close to an electrical current, but not quite touching it. When it became plain that wasn’t working, I tried a different approach. I closed my eyes, and tried to tune out everything, even the beat of my own heart. It was hard: there was the wind rushing by, and Wisp trilling comments every so often into my ear, and Kaleth’s hooves pounding the dirt in cadence. It took me a while, but finally I closed my eyes and slipped into a smooth silence, retreating far enough within myself that all the distractions around me fell away. Then I envisioned the taebramh inside me; I saw it as a molten knot behind that tender spot just below my breastbone, the place where the ribs join together, below the red-hot throbbing of my heart. I brought to mind the pulsing veins of taebramh in the wall of the passage at Darkhill, and the way my fingers had felt when I’d plunged them into the coursing stream of white light.

My fingers began tingling, a half-painful feeling like pinpricks of silver-cold needles. I couldn’t feel my legs anymore, and it felt as though a white-hot iron slipped between my ribs. I gasped a little but then my lips stretched in a triumphant smile as I felt the taebramh flowing slowly outward from that pulsing place behind my breast-bone. I nudged the white fire into my arms, and my fingers stopped tingling as the fire filled my hands. I opened my eyes, and everything was edged in a white glow. I looked down and saw, in my cupped palm, a pool of white fire, trickling from the veins in my wrist.

“Tess!” said a voice in my ear.

I ignored the voice, pouring the fire from one hand to the other, watching the slow steady stream of taebramh pouring from my wrists. There was a girl at my high school who had cut her wrists and died freshman year. I wondered in slow fascination if she had watched the blood surging out of her wrists as I was watching the white fire spill from mine.

Suddenly there was a sharp tug at my ear, and an even sharper pain in my arm. I lost focus and the taebramh slithered out of my grip, like a coil of silver with a mind of its own, sliding back into the pulsing place behind my breastbone.

“Tess!” said the voice in my ear again.

I came back to myself with a rush, almost like landing in my body after Walking. I realized that we had stopped moving, and Kaleth was trembling a little beneath me, his ears laid back against his skull. Flora hovered by my left shoulder, her tiny dagger drawn back again—I felt a warm trickle down my arm, and saw that she had stabbed me in the meaty part of my upper arm, just enough to cut through the haze of the taebramh. I felt the slight weight of Wisp on my right shoulder, and his hands were still wrapped in my hair.

“What possessed you to do that?” asked Flora in a furious voice.

“Do what?” I answered defensively. “I wanted to see if I could call up the taebramh on my own.”

“You did more than call it, you lit yourself up like a beacon!” Flora replied angrily, brandishing her dagger. “We might as well have sent up a signal to Mab and Malravenar, for the Three Trees’ sake!”

I sat still for a moment, and then carefully slid out of the saddle. “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” I said quietly to Kaleth. He looked at me with wide gray eyes, but his ears came up from their flattened position.

“That was not wise,” said Forsythe darkly. “You should have at least told us that you were trying to access the power.”

“Well, forgive me for not telling you about something that I didn’t even think would work,” I said, walking a few shaky steps. We were still on the relatively flat plains, but the forest looked closer now. Kaleth shook his head when I tried to take off his bridle, and so I left it on. He seemed over his scare as he walked about the small hill, cropping grass and swishing his tail just like any ordinary horse. I spread my cloak on the grass at the top of the hill and stretched my legs as I took a long swallow from one of the water-skins. In the distance, the blue-green of forest foliage hazed the horizon. That couldn’t possibly be the forest that Ramel had mentioned when he’d talked about the farthest boundaries of patrols. Here and there I sighted white dwellings, which though small compared to Darkhill boasted slender spires and sparkling windows. Paths branched from the main road to the dwellings, but as I watched, they were all eerily still, and we hadn’t encountered any other travelers on the road.

“We cannot stay angry with one another,” Flora said finally.

I looked at her in surprise. She had put away her dagger.

“I am sorry I had to hurt you,” she said slowly, “but we feared that you were going to lose yourself.”

I shrugged. “It’s all right. It’s not that deep of a cut.” I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, trying to ease some of the stiffness from my hips. “And thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know…I didn’t know that I’d actually be able to do it.”

“You have Gwyneth’s blood in your veins. You can do more things than you can imagine,” said Forsythe.

For some reason, Forsythe’s words sent a shiver down my back. I had been getting a lot of those lately, I thought, and this one was because I didn’t understand myself anymore. I had mostly known who I was, coming through the gate to Faeortalam: Tess O’Connor, intelligent and tough young woman, about to finish college and join the armed forces, following in the footsteps of her older brother Liam. And now…now I had become Tess O’Connor, tough but rather reckless young mortal, descended from a powerful priestess, about to face the collective forces of darkness in a foreign world.

“You should take a rest,” Forsythe said, breaking the silence, “in case we are not able to find shelter and must ride through the night.”

I almost protested that I wasn’t tired, but it occurred to me that it didn’t matter whether I was tired or not. It was a matter of practicality. The sun was riding low in the eastern sky. Within a few hours, the sun would set, and we would be riding through darkness.

“How far do you think we’ve come?” I asked Wisp, who alighted on one corner of my cloak and unrolled his miniature maps with a flourish.

“Never fear,” he said as he scrutinized the maps, “we are making good time. Soon we shall find out the fate of your sword-master and your Knight.”

“He’s not my Knight,” I said.

“But you wish him to be,” replied Wisp impishly.

I rolled my eyes even as a warm glow suffused my belly at the thought of Finnead. “There’s nothing to it. It’s just a silly crush,” I muttered.

“But what if it is not?” Wisp asked. “The daughter of Gwyneth and a Named Knight…I have heard of worse matches between mortals and Fae.”

“First of all, I’m not Gwyneth’s daughter,” I said. “My mother’s name is Colleen.”

“A strong Fae-Friend name,” said Wisp approvingly.

I shot him a dry look and he laughed, his musical voice filling the clear air, providing some much-needed relief of tension.

“In any case,” I continued, “I’m not under any illusions. I know I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with him.”

“And why not?” Wisp demanded indignantly. I smiled a little at his defensiveness—it was as if I was his sister, and someone had told him I wasn’t pretty enough to be homecoming queen.

I shrugged. “He hasn’t ever shown much interest in me anyway.”

“He has never shown more interest in any maiden,” Flora contributed. “He has a sorrow-blighted past, the Vaelanbrigh, but he has a good heart.”

I remembered the feel of his gentle hands as he carried me, the urgency in his voice as he told me to stay awake after the battle with the garrelnost. “I know,” I said softly. I spread my hands out in a gesture of helpless ignorance. “But I just don’t see how I can even compete with any of the Sidhe maidens.”

“You are beautiful,” said Wisp.

“You are powerful,” added Flora.

“And you are mortal,” finished Forsythe.

“Three things,” said Flora mischievously, “that Sidhe men have a very hard time resisting.”

For some reason, the conversation planted a prickle of irritation that spread through my chest. “I’m hardly as beautiful as Guinna or Bren,” I replied, “and I’ve just discovered my power. There was no way for him to know I’d turn out like this, and if my being mortal is the only reason he wants to be with me, then that’s not the kind of man I want.” I thought of the Vaelanmavar’s leering face as I said the words, the greedy expression on his face as he cornered me in the dark hallway. But you do want Finnead, a small voice in my head reminded me, showing me a flashing memory of his intense blue eyes to drive the point home.

I opened one of the saddlebags and took out one of the packets of food, eating a piece of bread even though I wasn’t particularly hungry after the conversation with the Glasidhe.

“You mortals have an annoying way of selling yourselves short,” Flora said under her breath, but still loud enough for me to hear clearly.

I had to chuckle a little at that. Trust Flora to let me know exactly what she thought, even when it wasn’t particularly what I wanted to hear. Then I sobered a little, thinking about what Flora had said earlier. “What do you mean, the Vaelanbrigh has had a sorrow-blighted past?” I asked her quietly, wrapping the food back up and taking one last swallow from the water-skin before capping it and tying it to my belt again.

“We will continue this conversation after you have slept a bit,” Flora said.

“Promise?” I said, stifling a yawn. I lay down on my cloak. The ground was surprisingly soft.

“I promise,” replied Flora.

“Wisp,” I murmured.

“You will not Walk,” said Wisp, “although I doubt anyone could force you to go anywhere, now that you have discovered how to call upon the taebramh yourself.”

“True,” I said. I closed my eyes and let my tired body drag me into sleep.

It seemed like only moments later that small hands shook me awake.

“Tess,” Flora said, “Tess, we must go.”

I sat up stiffly, rubbing my eyes. “Why?” I yawned.

“Please, just get up,” she said. “Something is not right.”

Kaleth raised his head as I stood. He made his way leisurely over to me, as if to reinforce the fact that he was a very intelligent being and was just obeying me out of courtesy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, stifling another yawn. “And you promised to continue our conversation from…before.”

Flora considered, and she began to say something, but Forsythe said suddenly and briskly, “We should get moving again.”

“Flora was about to tell me something,” I said, my voice just this side of complaining. Nonetheless I stood and brushed off my legs, rolling up my cloak again. Forsythe hovered above me, turning slowly in circles, surveying the land as far as he could see. I tipped my face up to him. “What’s the matter?”

“No worry,” he replied, far too quickly, as he dropped down to shoulder-height again. “I just think it would be smart to camp somewhere sheltered tonight, not out in the open.”

“Makes sense,” I said in a nonchalant voice, but I knew that something had caught Forsythe’s attention, and not in a good way.

I stowed my cloak as best I could behind the saddle—to my despair, my cloak roll looked lumpy and misshapen, not smooth and cylindrical as it had been beneath Bren’s capable fingers. Swallowing a growl of frustration, I decided that I wouldn’t make Kaleth kneel for me to mount, and I told him as much. The blue-roan horse turned his head, snorted at me, and then went back to cropping grass as if to say, Suit yourself.

“Grab his mane, if you insist upon being stubborn,” Wisp suggested. “Otherwise we’ll have to dust you off again.”

“Your confidence in me is so encouraging,” I told the Glasidhe dryly. I heard Flora suppress a chuckle. Forsythe remained silent, observing our surroundings again. His seriousness made me turn back to the saddle, eager to be moving. I hooked my left toe in the stirrup and, after arranging my scabbard so that it wasn’t digging uncomfortably into my left thigh, I reached up and grabbed two generous handfuls of Kaleth’s course mane. He gave no indication that he even noticed my weight as I hauled myself up into the saddle. I grinned in triumph as I slid my right toe into the stirrup.

“There,” I said, slightly breathless. “That wasn’t so hard.”

I didn’t even bother to pick up the reins, instead just tucking the excess under my knee so that it wouldn’t get all tangled.

“Let’s go then,” I said to Kaleth, adding after a moment, “if you’re ready, that is.”

Kaleth turned his head, fixed me with one of his knowing gray eyes, and then turned his head forward again. He shook his mane, swished his tail, and then promptly set off at a fast trot.

“How exactly like a male,” I said to myself, but I couldn’t help but be a little amused at the horse’s prideful streak. He was, after all, the equivalent of a war-charger, I reminded myself, used to carrying Sidhe knights into battle; and here he was carrying a mortal girl across the country-side on a likely ill-fated rescue mission. Even though he was a volunteer, I supposed he could be forgiven for needing a little time to adjust.

We followed the road over winding green hills. Occasionally we would pass expanses of flatter land, patch-worked with gold and green, furrows wrinkling the earth. I saw what looked like wheat, golden and heavy-headed; but that was the only plant that I really recognized. There were tall blue stalks with pale ears that looked a bit like corn, and vibrant green vines that covered some patches, producing bright gourds and melons. But even though the crops looked like they were ready for harvest, there was still not a soul in sight. My skin began to prickle at the emptiness of the land: there was an unnatural feel to it. The Glasidhe must have felt it, too, because all three of them abandoned their various perches in favor of flying ever-broadening circles about my path, circling in the air like brightly bejeweled dragonflies. I saw small silver flashes through Flora’s glow, and after a moment I realized that she had a throwing knife in each hand, spinning them restlessly like a college student twirls a pencil mindlessly about her finger. I sat up straighter in the saddle, twisting to look at the road behind us.

“The danger is not behind, but ahead,” Forsythe said grimly, flying by me on a low pass.

I clenched my teeth to stop a shiver and forced myself to look straight ahead. The rolling hills gradually flattened, and the ground became rockier as the farmland faded. The air gradually grew cooler, and I smelled the forest on the breeze, if I closed my eyes when the slight wind caressed my face. I couldn’t decide whether the change was because it was growing late in the afternoon, or if it was because we were traveling northward. I had no knowledge of the weather in Faeortalam. Was it influenced by the whims of the Queens, or was it independent and natural, like in the mortal world?

Eerily, I had my answer scant moments after my questioning thought.

“The danger may be ahead, but there are other unpleasant things behind,” said Flora suddenly, pointing with one dagger over my shoulder. I twisted in the saddle and Kaleth slowed to a walk so that I could keep my balance while I gazed back at our path. Just at the horizon, oily black storm-clouds reared up in the sky, boiling higher with every second, split now and again with the forked flash of lightning-tongues.

“That’s no ordinary storm,” I said, my voice quiet with awe and a little fear. The slight wind stilled, and the air hung heavily about us, but the storm-clouds surged forward, gaining ground every moment.

“Mab has found out you slipped her net,” Forsythe said grimly.

“And I’m guessing she’s angry,” I whispered. The rumble of thunder reached my ears, even though the storm-clouds were barely past the horizon. If it was Mab’s doing, this was one storm we definitely didn’t want to catch us. I imagined her beautiful, imperious face frozen in cold fury, and I shuddered.

“Mab does not like to be bested,” Wisp said, his wings quivering.

Kaleth turned his head and observed the storm. The thunderheads were already closer. He blinked, and then pulled at the reins, pawing the dirt. Flora slipped into my boot, her tiny beautiful head poking up over the leather. Wisp settled behind my ear, taking a careful handful of my hair, and Forsythe appointed himself the rearguard, situating himself between the edge of the saddle and my cloak-roll.

“Damn Mab and her pride,” I said between gritted teeth. My heart quickened and my head spun with a rush of adrenaline as I shook the reins loose, looping them around one palm before taking two generous handfuls of Kaleth’s mane. I dug my toes hard into the stirrups, leaned forward and said to Kaleth’s pricked ears, “Let’s see if you can outrun this storm, then.”

In answer, Kaleth bolted forward, his great body surging as he stretched his legs, hooves pounding the earth even faster than when we had made our escape from Darkhill. Now, we were running from Mab herself—and I had a feeling that it was a race for our lives.

Chapter 24

The wind whipped tears into my eyes as Kaleth galloped down the beaten-dirt path, kicking up dust behind us that hung like a plume in the heavy air. Over the rushing of the wind, I still heard growling and rumbling of thunder behind us, and my heart beat faster. I imagined a gale imbued with the force of Mab’s fury, and then I blinked and tried to stop imagining, because it was too frightening.

In the back of my mind, I hoped that Bren hadn’t suffered from helping me slip out of Darkhill. And the guards…I hadn’t seen them, but I knew that the Ancient probably lulled them to sleep with silky threads of taebramh stroking their minds. They were probably young knights or guards, like Ramel and Emery. I hoped they hadn’t gotten in trouble either.

The air rushing past me slowly changed until it felt like autumn. I clutched Kaleth’s mane with numbing fingers, and I felt Wisp press closer behind my ear, his small body beginning to shiver. Flora ducked her head below the edge of my boot, wriggling down to nestle in the tender curve above my heel. I leaned forward, urging Kaleth on, trying to shift my weight to help him. I felt his muscles surging beneath me, but when I stole a glance over my shoulder, I knew with sinking dread that we weren’t going to outrun the storm. The storm-clouds had devoured half the distance between us, looming black, more intimidating than any storm I had ever seen in my life. Sickly green, dark purple and blue mottled the underbelly of the clouds, reminiscent of the strange colors staining the sky before a tornado. Kaleth strained forward, his ears laid back against his skull as he struggled to wrench more speed from his laboring body. I knew he sensed the danger, and I also knew, from the way he’d looked at me in the stables, that he considered it his duty to keep me safe while I was his rider.

What exactly could the taebramh do? I thought suddenly. It was the stuff of dreams in my world, but here in Faeortalam it was the very fabric of their existence, the essence of reality. I could control that, I thought, crouching closer to Kaleth’s neck. I closed my eyes, my arms trembling from my death-grip on his mane, fighting the urge to be sick from the rolling motion of his gallop with my eyes clenched shut. My body protested at the dizzy feeling of disorientation, but I clenched my teeth and found the pulsing white point beneath my breastbone. I thought of speed as I touched it: wind, wings, breathlessness, fire leaping through dry grass. And very gently I drew a small, thin thread out of the well inside me, so fine it was like a piece of invisible silk from a spider’s web. I pushed the thread down through my right arm, and thought of the thread slipping into Kaleth, flowing down to his hooves and lessening the labor of his lungs. I felt the thread hesitate at the tip of my finger, clinging to the warmth of my skin, and then I pressed it against Kaleth’s smooth, warm neck.

I opened my eyes just in time to sit back in the saddle, saving my face a hard bruising: Kaleth reared his head back, still galloping, a sound of surprise somewhere between a snort and a whinny escaping him. And for a moment time seemed to slow as I looked back at the surging storm, the horrific black clouds blotting out the horizon. Then Wisp wrapped his hands in my hair and shouted, “Hold on!”

Kaleth’s ears pricked forward as he felt the power of the taebramh. He gave a challenging bugle, as if daring Mab’s storm-clouds to race him. I had barely enough time to get a better grip, tucking my elbows close to my body and leaning forward in the saddle.

And then Kaleth flew.

The change in speed was so sudden that my stomach lurched. I heard Flora scream in wild delight, glimpsed her looking out from the top of my boot, her aura streaming out behind her like the tail of a comet. Forsythe was yelling something from behind me, a poem or a chant in the Glasidhe tongue, which sounded much like the Sidhe language, but more musical, with softer shorter words. His voice rose fiercely, loud and powerful despite his small frame and the rushing wind. Gooseflesh rose on my arms at the sound of his defiant voice, and I realized that I, too, wore an expression of passionate defiance and triumph, my lips stretched in a humorless smile as I watched the storm-clouds cease to gain ground.

“Catch me if you can, Mab!” I shouted on wild impulse. Kaleth and I were one being, the road falling away beneath our fleet hooves, our hearts swelling with the feeling of pure unnatural speed. Kaleth knew that what I had given him was temporary, but he exulted in it. I exulted in it. I threw one fist wildly into the air, feeling my hair ripped loose from its braid, streaming out behind me like a golden banner. I looked behind us, and the storm-clouds were a fraction farther back toward the horizon. I let loose another wild yell, my voice heavy with triumph, and then I settled down along Kaleth’s neck, my sore muscles forgotten as we rode the swell of the taebramh-given speed over the beaten-dirt road.

Kaleth ran for a long time, and I had to close my eyes after a while against the cold whipping wind. My fingers went numb, so that I opened my eyes for a few seconds every so often to make sure my grip was still secure, though I knew that Kaleth wouldn’t let me fall. When Kaleth slowed, I looked behind us and saw that the storm-clouds were still on the horizon, but they lacked the dreadful sickly tones of color that had denoted Mab’s influence.

“The Dark Queen has let go of the storm,” Wisp said. “’Tis a storm, still, but just a storm.”

Kaleth switched from a trot to a walk, his ears swiveling animatedly and his step jaunty as if we had just left Darkhill a quarter hour ago. I laughed a little and he shook his head, stamping and snorting like a colt.

“That was a ride,” Flora said, slipping from my boot and pirouetting giddily.

“Not bad, for an untaught mortal,” commented Forsythe, emerging from his perch on my cloak to fly beside Kaleth again.

“I could take offense to that,” I told him, “but I won’t.” And I didn’t, because the cold dread at the roiling storm-clouds had receded, leaving an empty space in my belly that filled now with a happy satisfaction. But then I sobered a bit. “I’ve escaped her twice now,” I mused. “I guess that’s going to make her very angry when she does eventually catch up to me.”

“But by then, we will have done something that even the Dark Lady will not scoff at!” said Wisp with a gallant air, springing from my shoulder with a flourish.

Forsythe tensed and shot Wisp a look that would have melted the smile from my face, if it had been directed at me, and I heard Flora say something sharply in the Glasidhe tongue. I would have paid more attention, but the rush of triumph at outrunning Mab’s storm had ebbed away, leaving me decidedly sore, and more than a little tired. I thought bemusedly that giving away such a slim strand of taebramh had cost me much more energy that I would’ve guessed. I flexed my fingers, watching the tendons in my hands as they moved, oddly fascinated in the way of the deeply exhausted. I wondered how much taebramh my soul made per day, if I had a quota that couldn’t be breached…and what would happen if I just emptied myself of it? I had the nasty feeling that the consequences of completely using my stores of taebramh would have a very permanent, cold and lifeless theme.

“It would be really nice if we could find someplace to sleep,” I said.

“You’re tired,” Wisp said with an air of wisdom.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I said dryly, rubbing my hands together.

Wisp chuckled a little in delight at my sarcasm.

“I don’t understand,” Flora said, perplexed. “Wisp is not a captain, since we have no formal militia anymore, and even if he was a captain, he would still have his own name. He would not be called Captain Obvious.”

“It is a mortal reference,” Wisp said proudly. “Tess was commenting on my tendency to state that which is already known, you see.”

“Ah,” said Flora, “so she was mocking you.”

Wisp looked slightly put out. “Well, yes, if you put it that way…”

Flora laughed. “In that case, I approve.”

“You spent too much time at Court anyway,” Wisp told her. “If you would’ve gotten out into the mortal world more, you would understand such references.” And with that, he settled on my shoulder again. I thought for a moment he was being sullen, but his irrepressible voice piped out again: “You know, Tess, you are very different than Gwyneth. Or what I’ve heard about her, anyway.”

“How so?” I said, trying to stifle a yawn. My exhaustion was quickly getting the better of me, and I hoped we found a place to stay the night soon.

“There are rules that are supposed to be followed, with the taebramh. Every mortal that has had the taebramh in their blood, they have had to learn words to unlock it, and symbols to draw, and even then sometimes it did not work.”

Through the haze of tiredness, comprehension dawned on me. “Like…spells?”

“Yes. I think that’s the word for them. But we don’t call it that here…it’s just as we do not have a word for sorcery, because in Faortalam it is. It is nothing strange. It is strange for a mortal to possess the power, in these times,” he clarified.

“Maybe that’s why I’m so tired after using so little of it,” I said. The rumble of thunder in the distance overshadowed my words.

“Come on then, over here,” Flora said, flying back to Kaleth after scouting.

I blinked blearily and looked up as Kaleth stepped off the path into the long grasses. The forest still crouched on the horizon, at least a few hours’ ride away. I didn’t think I would last that long, and the Glasidhe seemed to know that too. Kaleth headed toward a stand of trees. The center of the cluster was a tree that looked a little bit like a gingko tree, with low-spreading branches; but its leaves were a deep lustrous blue that I knew I would never see in the mortal world. Smaller, younger trees surrounded the large blue-leafed tree, creating a dense copse. A faint scent reached me on the breeze; it smelled like the coolness of rushing water, blended with the aroma of a darkly sweet flower, like jasmine.

“It is a river tree,” said Flora. “It smells like a river, and its leaves are blue, and its roots run deep into the earth to find the hidden waters, so it can survive far away from streams and such.”

The sweet smell of the river tree grew stronger as we neared the copse, but never became overpowering. I slid off Kaleth’s back gratefully, tugging at my cloak until it came free. Swells and dips indented the ground beneath the river tree’s spreading branches—from the roots of the tree, I supposed. I spread my cloak over a hollow that looked to be the perfect size for my body. Then I turned to Kaleth, but to my surprise Flora and Forsythe were in the midst of unbuckling his saddle already, their small fingers working on the buckles adroitly.

“Go to sleep,” Flora told me.

I saw the distant flash of lightning, and glanced up at the tightly woven foliage of the river tree. I might get a little wet, but it was good cover. I settled down into my little hollow, pulling off my boots and setting them in another root-niche. After another glance at the approaching storm, I laid my head down and slept, the sweet smell of the river tree surrounding me like a lullaby.

I dreamed the vivid peculiar dreams of deeply exhausted sleep. Finnead roared up to the river tree on his motorcycle, wearing his black t-shirt and deliciously snug dark jeans. He invited me to ride with him, one eyebrow arched enigmatically over his magnetic gaze. When I looked down, I was dressed in a deep blue silk gown that matched his eyes. I knew that if I rode the motorcycle, I would tear the gown, so I demurely declined. Then it started to rain—I think raindrops fell on my sleeping body, blending dream and reality—and I could feel the silk of the gown clinging to my breasts, the contours of my hips and the long lines of my legs. The rain wet Finnead’s hair, plastering it against his forehead in dark curls. I wanted to trace the curls with my fingertips, and press a kiss where the rain slipped over his lips. He left his motorcycle on the road and walked toward me, striding gracefully through the long grass, reminding me of a cat. His eyes remained fixed on me and in my dream my breath caught in my throat, my face burning as I watched his eyes trace the outline of my body, the silk pressing wetly against my skin in the pouring rain.

It was a dream without words. We needed no words, the air between us stretching so tightly with tension that I thought I would be cut when it broke, cut by a flash of cold air against my skin. Finnead walked slowly. It took him an age to reach me. His eyes traveled down my body again, and the blue gown was gone, leaving only the thin white slip between his gaze and my naked skin. I shivered a little in the rain and he peeled off his black shirt. I reached for him, my heart beating hard with a rush of want, but he caught my wrist gently, shaking his head. And then he turned away from me, showing me his bare back, patterned with a latticework of thick white scars. He looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes carrying a terrible pain. I reached out again, to touch his scars, my chest aching with sorrow for him. He shook his head again, and then he was gone.

I stood alone in my white shift, in the rain. After a while I picked a few flowers, and made a crown for myself, and then took Finnead’s motorcycle and rode away from the river-tree.

I had other dreams after that, but when I awoke all I remembered was the web of scars across Finnead’s back. I blinked and shifted from where I had curled in the hollow, dislodging a sleepy Flora from the crook of my knee. Water drizzled down onto me through the leaves of the river-tree, and while my cloak had kept me relatively dry, my hair was hopelessly bedraggled, tangled and windblown after the wild ride yesterday, now sopping wet with the rain. I grumbled in frustration as I tried to finger-comb the mess, wincing as I worked through a particularly nasty knot.

“Tess,” said Forsythe, his light shining through the interwoven branches of the smaller trees, “there is someone coming to see you. A rider, from the direction of the forest.”

I sat up a little straighter, a surge of hope burning away the vestiges of sleep. Maybe it was Ramel or Finnead, or one of the other men. My heart leapt at the thought.

“It is a woman,” Forsythe reported, “and she is riding a mount from the Dark Queen’s stables. And there is…another animal with her. I think it is a dog of some sort.”

Giving up on untangling my hair, I twisted it into the semblance of a bun and secured it with a few hair-pins. I located my boots and shook the water out of them, taking a deep breath to combat the rush of disappointment. I heard Kaleth neigh a greeting to the stranger’s mount. So it was an Unseelie rider; it just wasn’t anyone that I knew. I had pulled on my boots and gathered up my cloak when I heard the slight sound of branches moving aside.

A Sidhe woman slipped gracefully into the space below the river tree’s branches. To my surprise, she was just as tall as me, a rare feat among the Fae women. If Forsythe hadn’t told me she was female, I would have mistaken her for a boy at first glance, and even as it was my mind worked hard to reconcile the tall, slim Sidhe before me with the image of a woman like Guinna, small and delicate and feminine. The stranger wore her dark hair pulled tightly back from her face, pinned in a practical braid. Then I saw she wore a sword at her waist, and I knew she was probably a Guard or a Knight. We looked at each other for a moment, with the stranger plainly sizing me up just as I had quickly evaluated her.

“Well, you look like a drowned cat,” she said, breaking the silence. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I replied in the same dry tone. We stared at each other for a moment more, and I marveled at her strangely colored eyes: they were the closest to golden I had ever seen, a marvelous honey color that gave the unsettling impression that she saw right through your skin with her gaze. Her face, while not stunningly beautiful, had a strong handsomeness to it—another reason why I mistook her for a boy, at first. Her features—pert nose, broad cheekbones and sharp chin, along with her large golden eyes—possessed a strangely alluring, androgynous charm.

After a long moment, she looked away, examining the grove of trees. Flora, Forsythe and Wisp hovered up near the boughs of the river tree, surprisingly silent. “You are a friend of the Glasidhe?”

“You could say that,” I said cautiously.

“And you are a Walker,” continued the stranger nonchalantly, taking a blue leaf and rubbing it between two fingers.

I felt my shoulders tense. “I don’t discuss personal matters with strangers,” I said smoothly, trying to match her tone.

She chuckled a little, a small smile on her lips as she looked back at me. “They did say you had a bit of sass.” She had a bit of an accent, I noticed, a broadening of the vowels and a tendency to cut off the ends of words, softening her hard consonants. I wondered if she had been born in a far-flung part of the Unseelie lands.

I cleared my throat a little. “Well. I’m Tess.”

“Yes. I assumed that much already. In any case…Vell. Veliandra, really, but that’s a mouthful to shout in the middle of a dust-up.” Vell grinned briefly.

“I guess it would be,” I said musingly.

Vell fixed me with her strange golden eyes. “Do you prefer dogs or cats?”

I frowned, feeling like it was a trick question. “Dogs, I guess.”

The Sidhe woman grinned briefly. “Good.” She tilted her head a little, her voice dropping subtly. “Are you afraid of wolves, Tess?”

Now that was an even stranger question. I stood up a little straighter. “Why do you ask?” I said, a hint of suspicion in my tone.

“Because you’ll probably have to get over that fear very quickly,” replied Vell enigmatically. “Come on, then.” She turned and began slipping back through the branches of the river tree.

“Hold on just a minute,” I said. “You need to explain what’s going on before I go anywhere with you.”

“I don’t need to do any such thing,” Vell said, suddenly only a step away from me. My skin prickled as I looked into her golden eyes. “But I’ll humor you, because Ramel and Finnead thought you important enough to send me after you. Somehow they felt you were coming.”

“Are they all right? Were you attacked?” I asked quickly.

Vell grinned. “Come on. They’re going to think I’m not capable if I don’t get you back soon. And yes, we were attacked after we reached the first patrol, but no, no one was hurt then.” Her grin faded. “It was strange. It was like…the creatures attacked, feeling out our defenses. They outnumbered us…” She shook her head. “They outnumbered us at least two to one. But they didn’t press. They didn’t come after us.”

“That is strange,” I said, tucking my rolled cloak under my arm and trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Yes. It is.” Vell fixed me with her golden gaze. “It was like they were looking for something. Or someone.” She turned and began walking back toward the path. “And after seeing your little fireworks display, I think I know who they were looking for.”

I pursed my lips as we emerged from the shade of the tree-stand. “It was that obvious?”

Vell turned to me and shook her head. “You were lit up like a torch. I was still pretty far away, tracking your scent, but then I didn’t need to track you anymore because I just followed the damn flash.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” I muttered. Kaleth lifted his head and walked over to me. Beside him was a gray horse, significantly smaller and slimmer than Kaleth. I realized again my luck in having such a large, strong mount. The Glasidhe followed behind us, hovering well above our heads. I wondered why they were being so cautious, and then I saw the wolf sitting by the gray horse’s feet. My feet tried hard to stop but I gritted my teeth and continued to follow Vell.

“So that’s why you asked me whether I was a dog or cat person,” I said lightly. My voice came out a little higher than I intended. The wolf, sitting quietly with its tail wrapped neatly around its forepaws, fixed me with an eerily familiar golden gaze that sent shock waves through me. “Well,” I continued, trying to keep my mind from freezing up entirely, “it has your eyes. Charming.”

“This is Beryk,” said Vell fondly, roughing the wolf’s neck fur. “He’s the reason that the knights let me join. I’m not a full knight, you see. Not even close, because I’m from the Northern wild-lands.” She grinned, her canines glinting a little. “Traditionally my people don’t come to Court. And we aren’t exactly missed. But we possess certain skills that they find particularly useful.”

“So you’re a scout, or something?” I found Kaleth’s tack nestled in the long grass and tried to make sense of the myriad straps and buckles, succeeding after a moment.

“Sometimes a scout. And sometimes the…something,” Vell replied evasively, checking her own mount’s tack. I marveled at the fact that both mounts seemed perfectly comfortable with Beryk sitting just an arm’s length away. As I watched from the corner of my eye, Beryk stood and padded closer to me. I concentrated on Kaleth’s bridle, ignoring the prickling as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Beryk leaned closer to me, and I realized he was taking in my scent. I held very still, wondering if I needed to introduce myself or if that was a breach of etiquette. But the dark wolf seemed to be satisfied. He trotted back to Vell, nipping at her leg with a slight flash of very white, very long teeth. I heard a low, playful kind of growl, and it hadn’t come from Beryk.

“She is speaking to the wolf,” Wisp whispered into my ear. “She is North-kind. I have not seen one of them this far south in a very long time.”

I finished tightening the straps. “Well, desperate times, I suppose,” I murmured back to Wisp.

“Ready?” Vell said. “Beryk is going to go on ahead, to flush out any ambushes.” She leapt up lightly onto the back of her gray mount. I sighed enviously as I hooked my toe in the stirrup and took handfuls of Kaleth’s mane as leverage. After I had hauled myself up into the saddle, we started forward at a brisk trot, continuing toward the forest.

The morning sky hung low and gray over our heads, the air hanging lank and damp. The horses’ hooves churned the dirt path into mud. Kaleth snorted in distaste. I laughed a little at him and he shook his head, almost dislodging Flora. I urged him up beside Vell’s mount.

“You said there was no one hurt in the attack on the rescue party from Darkhill?” I asked, raising my voice over the rhythm of the horses’ hooves.

“Not in that attack,” Vell said grimly. “The original patrol, though…” She shook her head, her mouth tightening.

“It was bad?”

“Worse than bad,” she replied. “Brutal.”

I winced, thinking of the horrible destruction the creatures had wrought at the ruins of the Saemhradall. I didn’t want to imagine what the Shadow-servants would do to an unprepared patrol. “How many?”

“Seven dead, and the rest wounded.” She shook her head again. “But at least five of the wounded will probably be dead by the time we return. They used iron, and most of the wounded won’t survive.”

“We should go faster. I might be able to help them,” I said urgently, leaning forward in the saddle.

“You’ll be no help to them if you’re dead or captured,” Vell replied succinctly. “There have been many sightings. I was told not to take chances.”

“If we’re traveling faster, we should be harder to ambush.”

“If we’re traveling faster, we see less and it gives Beryk less time to scout the area,” Vell pointed out calmly.

“Well, have him scout faster,” I replied. Kaleth surged into a rolling canter. I heard Vell’s mount break into a canter as well.

“You’re just as stubborn as they said,” Vell told me, but her golden eyes flashed and she grinned.

I grinned in reply, and then pressed myself lower against Kaleth’s neck.

We took a break for lunch, but that just meant slowing the horses to a walk and eating while still riding. Wisp flew over to Vell, much to my surprise and amusement, quickly winning her over with his mischievous charm. We rode hard into the afternoon, and finally, when we were almost to the forest, Vell turned her mount off the path. Kelath followed her. Beryk appeared suddenly out of the long grass, matching his easy lope to the horses’ pace, his tongue lolling out between his long teeth.

“If you would, Beryk, please go tell the sentries we’re here,” Vell said. Beryk bounded off, soon invisible amidst the grass.

“I shall go find Forin and Farin,” Forsythe said. I nodded, and he sped off, hot on Beryk’s tail. I felt my heart speed up a little bit, and took a breath to steady my nerves.

We crested a hill and a large structure came into view. It was made of skillfully hewn timber, taken from the conveniently located forest, and it was easily the largest building I had seen since Darkhill—although the white structures I had seen from a distance were hard to judge. This long, low building was distinctly less graceful than the white buildings, clearly meant for utilitarian use. It had no windows but boasted three chimneys spaced at even intervals.

“A barracks,” Vell explained. “Used now and again by patrols stopping through the area, or if there’s a storm that scares them into hiding.” Her contempt reminded me of Molly’s father when he spoke about Yankees and “city-folk.”

Large, old trees dotted the area around the barracks, the forest’s last hold on the land. To my vague disappointment, there were no river-trees. Two Sidhe materialized out of the shadows, Beryk trotting beside them as they walked toward us. Vell dismounted, so I followed suit. My sore legs protested, giving out as soon as my feet hit the ground. I grabbed at Kaleth’s mane to keep myself upright while I dealt with my rebellious muscles. Kaleth snorted but Vell seemed not to notice, I saw gratefully, managing to balance on my sore legs.

The sentries spoke to Vell briefly, and looked at me silently as we passed. And then I saw my first familiar face.

“Donovan,” I said, my voice laced with profound relief. He looked a little worn, but he smiled at me all the same.

“Tess. It is good to see you well. I will take your mounts, if you please.”

I took my bow and quiver and cloak from where they had been tied to Kaleth’s saddle, and then I gave the reins to Donovan. He led the horses away.

“How many others are following you?” one of the sentries asked me. He looked young, younger than Ramel and Finnead, with the fresh face of a boy just recently past adolescence.

My heart twisted at the hope in his eyes. I opened my mouth to answer, trying to think of the right words. I looked at Vell, hoping that she would interject and save me the trouble, but she stared back at me with her honey-colored eyes silently. Beryk gazed at me too, standing by Vell’s other side. The combination of both their stares was distinctly disconcerting. I raised my chin and looked at the young sentry. “No one else is following me,” I told him in a matter-of-fact voice. “It’s just me.”

He struggled not to show his emotions, trying to emulate the older generation at Court, but I still caught the disappointment that flattened the light of hope in his eyes.

“Follow me,” the other sentry said, glancing at his younger companion. “The Vaelanbrigh will want to see you all the same.”

I tamped down my own rush of hope at the mention of Finnead. Vell motioned for me to follow the sentry first, and so I trailed after him into the barracks, the Glasidhe hovering just above my shoulders.

Chapter 25

The interior of the barracks proved much more comfortable than it looked from the outside: it was well appointed with worn but still serviceable rugs, and a fire blazed in the huge fireplace to the right of the door. The barracks was partitioned into three separate, spacious rooms; one for each fireplace, I realized. The first room that the sentry led us through was further divided by heavy curtains, and from the other side I heard voices, raised in heated conversation. The sentry stood to one side to let another Sidhe walk past, and although I didn’t recognize him, he stopped, looked at me, and then looked at the sentry.

“Just this one. That’s all,” the sentry said grimly. He led us through a door into the second large room. In this room, packs rested against the walls, cloaks hung up drying on the backs of chairs, and on the long, low table against the wall sat the scattered remnants of a meal. There were several chairs pulled up in front of the fire in a loose semicircle, and the Sidhe sitting in them were deep in conversation, heads leaned forward toward a map spread on a circular table in the center of the group. The sentry motioned to us to stop, and walked forward. He cleared his throat politely. I strained to hear his words.

“Excuse me, my lord, but my orders are to alert you of any newcomers,” he said in a low voice to one of the Sidhe sitting with his back to us.

I felt two of the Glasidhe alight on the edge of my quiver, their slight weight pulling on the straps. They began a fiercely whispered conversation.

“I tell you, that was the tree,” said Wisp. “We led her to it but we should have told her.”

“If she did not feel it, then perhaps she is not meant to bear it,” Flora replied. “We are only the keepers of the secret. Who are we to choose?”

“Who is anyone to make that choice?” demanded Wisp, forgetting to whisper. “She is mortal, she is a Walker and she is of Gwyneth’s line!”

I stopped listening to the conversation, because the man to whom the sentry had spoken stood up, and before he even turned around I knew it was Finnead. My chest ached with a strange sensation as he saw me. An enigmatic emotion burned in his gaze—I couldn’t decipher it. Was it happiness to see me, or disappointment that I hadn’t brought a band of reinforcements, or just disappointment in the most general sense of the word?

Then another man stood, and the firelight glinted off Ramel’s coppery hair. “Tess!” he said in a ringing voice, striding forward past Finnead. “Well, finally this barren outpost is graced with a bit of feminine beauty!”

Vell made a sound somewhere between a disgusted snort and a warning growl. Ramel looked at her, and then down at Beryk, who was watching him intently.

“No offense meant, my dear wolf-charmer,” he said to her, giving her his best roguish grin. She raised her eyebrows at him and then looked past him to Finnead. “May I make my report?” she asked in her broad accent. I noticed the conspicuous lack of the honorific—she didn’t call Finnead “sir,” or “my lord,” as the sentry had done. I knew immediately from Ramel’s expression that she omitted it purposefully, and it was not a new occurrence.

“If you expect respect, Northerner,” said Emery, standing languidly but fixing Vell with a hard stare, “you had best show some.”

“I know well enough that if I didn’t have Beryk, I wouldn’t be here,” replied Vell coolly, a flash of her golden eyes the only indication of her anger. “You afford me no respect, so why should I bow and scrape before your Court-appointed master?”

“Respect is earned,” said Ramel, just as Emery said, “Maybe I shall teach you some respect, north-whelp.”

Beryk stepped in front of Vell and showed his teeth, a low growl vibrating in his throat. Vell stood with her weight on one leg, lazily, but I saw her hand drifting toward her dagger-hilt.

“Enough,” said Finnead firmly. He looked fixedly at Emery for a tense moment until the shorter man stepped back, and sat back down—although not without one last glare at Vell. Beryk’s low growl still reverberated through the air. “That goes for you as well,” Finnead told the wolf. Beryk didn’t quite let his lips down again to cover his white teeth, but he stopped growling.

“This is why we shouldn’t let animals in here,” Ramel said under his breath. He merely grinned when Vell shot him a poisonous look, but it wasn’t a very nice grin. I could tell that the strain of the mission was beginning to affect them all.

“Make your report,” Finnead said to Vell. He added gracefully, “If you please.”

Vell seemed taken slightly aback by his courtesy. She cleared her throat. “I found the mortal a half-day’s ride out. She says she left Darkhill only a day ago, in the morning hours.”

“That’s impossible,” said Emery. “Where did you find her?”

“Under the river-tree. Closer than anyone expected, I suppose,” Vell replied. She idly stroked Beryk’s dark fur with one hand. “Beryk didn’t even need to track her down.”

“And why is that?” Ramel asked, his gaze fixed on me.

“She lit herself up like a torch with the taebramh,” Vell replied matter-of-factly. “It was like a beacon. I just pointed myself in that direction.” She shrugged. “Too easy.”

“Well,” said Emery from his chair by the fire, “if your skills are so great, Northerner, then perhaps you could use them to track down the Iron Sword.” He glanced at Vell with hard anger in his eyes. “Is that a difficult enough task? Does that equal your…skills?”

I frowned. A few snide comments, I could forgive. But I actually liked Vell—at least from what I knew of her in our short acquaintance. Sure, she could apparently talk to a wolf. That was a little weird. But then again, I’d lit myself up like a Fourth-of-July sparkler yesterday. I couldn’t really afford to be squeamish when it came to my friends.

“Hold on just a minute,” I said. “I think you’re being a little unfair.”

“You know nothing of fair,” Emery replied, on his feet again. “And you know nothing of the Northerners. You know nothing of what her kind has done!”

I refused to show that Emery’s words had stung me. I clenched my teeth and resisted the urge to look down at the floor, facing him with my chin raised.

“My people have done nothing!” Vell said vehemently, her eyes blazing with open anger. “You think you know everything simply because you’ve spent time at the almighty Court!”

Everyone in the room had gone very still, Finnead included, their attention solely focused on Vell.

“My people,” she said fiercely, her voice now deadly quiet, “were the first to bear the burden of this evil! They were the first to fall to the Shadow. They were the first to try to stem the tide of horrors from the Deadlands.”

“If your people had kept the pact, and protected the Lesser Gate, then the Shadow would not have gained a foothold in the first place,” replied Emery. “And we would not be fighting for our lives right now.”

Fighting for their lives? A shiver rippled through me. I had never heard the stoic Court-bred Sidhe put the conflict in such baldly unequivocal words.

“My people did their best,” Vell said, her voice shaking with the effort to keep control. “And you would do well to remember that they paid for it with their blood.” She stood silently for a moment, then turned her golden eyes from Emery to Finnead, saying, “Is there anything else you would like to know?” When Finnead shook his head, she continued, “Permission to be excused?”

“Granted,” Finnead said. Vell turned on her heel and strode quickly away. Beryk bared his teeth to the room at large, and loped after her.

As soon as the door closed behind her, I said, “What the hell was all that?”

Emery shook his head tightly, and Ramel sighed.

“An old wound, reopened by the wounds we have received now,” my sword-teacher said with an uncharacteristic weariness.

“What message do you bear?” Finnead asked, taking a few strides toward me.

“Message?” I looked at him in confusion.

“From the Queen,” said the Vaelanbrigh expectantly. “After our Walker did not return, I felt it through her power…I felt that you were coming. I could not say why or when, but I felt that much.”

I stood silently for a moment, noting dully that my boots were staining the carpet damp. “I have no message,” I said finally.

Finnead frowned faintly. “But the Queen must have said…she must have sent a message with you.”

“I didn’t exactly leave with Mab’s blessing,” I explained slowly.

Finnead looked at me silently with his sea-blue eyes, and Ramel said, “But when is she sending the reinforcements we requested?”

The silence was deafening, and the air in the room became heavier and heavier with each passing breath. I felt the Glasidhe slipping into my quiver—trying to escape the oppressive atmosphere, I guessed. I wished fervently that I had the option of hiding in a quiver.

“When your Walker was killed,” I said softly, “the Queen decided not to send out any more forces until Molly is ready to ride out with them.”

Ramel raked his fingers through his hair, and a look of great weariness passed over Finnead’s face. I wanted desperately to throw my arms around him and tell him that it was all going to be all right, but I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it. And I didn’t know whether it was going to be all right.

“We’ve lost eight already,” said Emery heavily. “How many more must die before the fendhionne is ready?”

“There’s more,” I said quietly. I stared at the rug rather than see the looks on their faces. “I’m a Walker. Titania…she dragged it out of me, really. She took me to her kingdom.” I looked up. “The Saemhradall was attacked, and Titania was taken prisoner.”

The shocked silence was worse than any sounds of disbelief.

I continued doggedly. “I saved a Seelie woman from the creatures. I think she got away. And they burned the forest near the Saemhradall.” I looked at Ramel. “I need to talk to you, later,” I said quietly. He nodded heavily.

Finnead passed his hand over his face. “So there are no reinforcements coming for us.”

I shook my head. “No. Not anytime soon, at least.”

He dropped his hand, determination hardening his features. “Very well. We shall have to draw up a battle plan.”

“I didn’t see any Dark creatures when Vell brought me in,” I pointed out.

“When the barracks were first built, protective spells were laid into the walls. It’s difficult for the creatures to come very close,” Emery explained. Then he stopped, looking at me oddly. I realized that I’d been idly tracing the circle of Gwyneth’s iron pendant with one finger.

“And speaking of protective spells,” Ramel said, following the direction of Emery’s gaze. He walked very close to me, frowning.

“You might not want to touch that,” I warned him.

“Remember I have some mortal blood,” he said, grinning rakishly. “It shouldn’t kill me.”

I took a step back but not in time. Ramel grazed the pendant with one finger. His eyes widened.

“Holy—”

A silent explosion threw him into the air. He landed with a crash on the map-table. I felt my eyes go wide with shock. Finnead, who had sat down in his chair and had been staring into the fire in thought, looked at Ramel and then at me, raising one eyebrow.

“I told him not to touch it,” I said defensively, clutching the pendant in one hand.

Emery slid out of his chair with feline grace, shaking Ramel’s shoulder. To my relief, Ramel groaned and sat up, rubbing his forehead dazedly. “…shit,” he finished, blinking. Then, to my great surprise, he started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded. Finnead stood, stepped over Ramel and walked toward me. I took another involuntary step backward, still clutching the pendant, and tripped over my own feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the Glasidhe had abandoned my quiver, and then, Finnead was simply there, catching me, his large hands surprisingly gentle. He was so close I could have kissed him by just tilting my head back, bringing my lips up to meet his, and the very idea was so impossible it was painful.

He set me back on my feet carefully, a small smile touching the corner of his mouth. I felt a blush burn across my face. It was fitting, that he found my clumsiness amusing.

“Full of surprises,” wheezed Ramel, still laughing as Emery helped him to stand.

Flora and Forsythe righted the table, and Wisp spread the map out again, smoothing out the wrinkles fastidiously.

“You brought—guests,” Emery said in mild surprise.

“Yes,” I replied. “There were two others that were following you, too.”

“I told you I saw a glow in the trees!” Ramel said triumphantly to Finnead.

Finnead said nothing, looking at me with a considering gaze that rooted me to the spot. I wouldn’t have been able to move even if I’d wanted; it was as if the soles of my boots had grown roots deep through the floorboards.

“Come and sit,” Emery suggested, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

I shook my head mutely, still spellbound by Finnead’s eyes. I couldn’t read him—his face was like the blank page at the front of a devastatingly interesting book, with just a few hints of words showing through the paper, tantalizing.

Then someone burst into the room from the opposite door, the door to the farthest room of the barracks. She looked at me and with a jolt I recognized Allene, her hair pulled back severely and her shapely form hidden in a loose shirt and rough trousers. Her hands were slick with a dark blue-black liquid. My stomach turned: Sidhe blood. Dark circles bruised the delicate skin beneath her lovely eyes.

“Vaelanbrigh,” she said raggedly, motioning back toward the room.

Finnead turned and covered the room in three long strides, sweeping up the straps of a bag along the wall. His face was a mask of grim determination, and I realized that he was probably the only Sidhe in the barracks strong enough to touch iron without being overcome immediately by the poison. Allene moved to follow him but he touched her arm and shook his head.

“Who?” he asked simply.

“Merrick,” she replied.

I glanced at Ramel, and then ran across the room to join Finnead, brushing past Allene.

“What are you doing?” Finnead asked me as we entered the room. My stomach turned from the smell of blood and sickness, and I hesitated when I first saw the room: filled with at least fifteen cots, the neat rows a counterpoint to the heavy feel of death and despair. I saw that Finnead had paled a little when we entered the room, and I shook my hands out like I was in the middle of a long run, blowing out a hard breath to steel my resolve.

“I can touch iron. Mortal, remember?” I told Finnead.

He didn’t reply, turning sharply to one of the cots, where a young man lay gasping and sweating, the sound of his rattling breaths harsh in the oppressive silence. I walked around the other side of the bed as Finnead turned a knob on a nearby lamp, throwing the pale young man into sharp relief. He looked about my own age—a few hundred years, in Sidhe time, but still young. His bloodshot gray eyes rolled from Finnead to me and back to Finnead as he gasped for air, the bloodstained bandage on his chest heaving.

“Merrick, isn’t it?” said Finnead in a low, soothing voice as he opened his bag, his hands moving quickly but steadily as he pulled out several unmarked packets and a wood-handled knife.

“Yes, sir,” gasped out the young soldier—for that was what he was. A soldier in this war of light and shadow. He turned his head weakly toward me, staring at me with his glassy eyes until I shifted uncomfortably.

“My name is Tess,” I said, trying for the same soothing voice as Finnead and failing miserably. My words wobbled.

“You shine,” Merrick murmured breathily.

I blinked and forced myself not to look down at my hands. I knew I wasn’t shining from the taebramh. Merrick kept looking at me, and something in his face reminded me of a lost child. I leaned forward and brushed his hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes against the brush of my fingers, leaning his face into my hand. I saw Finnead pause for just a moment. Then he continued unpacking his bag industriously.

“What do you have to do?” I asked Finnead. Merrick’s breath hitched and he grimaced in pain. I took his hand and he closed his fingers around mine weakly.

“I thought that I’d gotten all the iron out of him,” Finnead said tightly. “He was shot with an arrow, and I got the head of it out, but those damn creatures aren’t only tipping their arrows, they’re putting barbs on them that break when the rest is pulled out.” He looked down at his tools. “I have to reopen the wound, and find the shard.”

“Can I help?” I said, swallowing against the sick feeling in my stomach.

“Help me unwrap the bandage,” Finnead said. He put his hand on Merrick’s shoulder for a brief moment and the younger man looked up at the Knight with such faith and trust in his eyes that it made my chest hurt. Then Finnead slowly lifted Merrick into a sitting position, leaving the wounded man gasping and closing his teeth fiercely on cries of pain. I found the edge of the cloth bandage and began to unwrap it from around his torso, moving as quickly and gently as possible. In the inner layers, the bandage had dried stiff with blood, dark as an ink-stain on the pale cloth. I wordlessly drew my smallest dagger and carefully cut through the last layers of cloth, revealing the sodden field-dressing on Merrick’s chest.

Finnead carefully lowered Merrick back onto the bed. I heard the other occupants of the room murmuring soft words of encouragement, covering his sounds of pain. I wondered whether it was for his benefit or their own.

“Take off the dressing,” Finnead said, his own voice a little rough now. He took the covering from the lamp and began heating the blade of the wood-handled knife over the dancing orange flame. I carefully peeled away the dressing, wincing when it caught the skin and breathing a small sigh of relief when the cloth finally came away, leaving the black wound on Merrick’s chest glistening in the open air. I gagged and turned away, thinking desperately that watching hospital dramas on television had not prepared me for the reality of this pain-soaked soldier.

Merrick’s breathing quickened. I looked and saw that his wide eyes followed every small movement of the blade as Finnead finished heating it over the candle-flame. I took his hand again, squeezing his fingers until he looked at me.

“Merrick,” I said in a quiet, low voice, “I’ll tell you a story, if you like.”

A small smile touched a corner of his blue-tinged lips. “I am not a child,” he rasped.

“I know.” I smiled a little in return, leaning closer despite the fetid smell of sweat and looming death. “In fact, you’re probably at least four times my age.”

His gray eyes narrowed as he searched my face. I raised my eyebrows, and smiled again as comprehension washed over his expression. “You are a mortal,” he whispered. “I have never met a mortal before.”

Finnead paused, the knife held over Merrick’s wound. I leaned closer, almost laying on the bed myself as I used my other hand to keep Merrick’s gaze fixed on me, shielding him as best I could from the sight of his terrible wound. “Look at me, now,” I said gently. “You can ask me any question you like.”

His hand tightened on mine painfully as he realized what was about to happen, but he didn’t fight my gentle grip. “Tell me…anything,” he gasped desperately.

Then the knife bit into his flesh and a strangled groan escaped him. I swallowed and kept my eyes locked on his. I started to talk about anything that came to mind—cars, and trains, and my brother Liam. I explained guns, and modern war in the mortal world, my voice low and steady, my face mere inches from Merrick’s as I struggled to keep his attention, to stave off the pain. When I glanced up I saw Finnead’s grim expression, the pallor of his skin as he leaned in closer over the wound.

“Isn’t there anything you can give him for the pain?” I asked desperately, raising my voice over Merrick’s hoarse cry of agony.

“Not over the iron,” said Finnead tersely, and I knew suddenly that he was in pain too—not just emotional pain from seeing one of his men so distraught, but physical pain. How much strength was this costing him?

Merrick’s breathing suddenly quickened, becoming so shallow that I leaned my ear close to his mouth to make sure he was alive.

“Almost,” said Finnead.

“Hurry,” I said, tapping Merrick’s cheek with the tips of my fingers. “Merrick, you have to stay awake.” I looked up at Finnead. “He’s slipping.”

Finnead muttered a curse and threw aside the tong-like instrument he’d been using, plunging his fingers into the wound instead. I swallowed down the sour taste in my mouth. Merrick’s eyes rolled back in his head. Desperately I pressed my palm to the side of his face and drew out a tiny drop of the taebramh. Just enough of a spark to relight a fire, I thought.

Finnead made a grim, triumphant sound as he thrust suddenly with his fingers, his face paling as he pulled out the long, wicked shard of iron with his bare hands. Merrick lay pallid and still, and I was about to push the spark into his skin through my palm when Finnead, with his other hand, uncorked a vial and held it beneath Merrick’s nose. Merrick sucked in a rattling breath and coughed harshly, jerking away from the vial. I cleared my throat and grimaced: I could smell the sharp odor, worse than ammonia, even at my distance away from the vial.

“Dragon’s piss,” Finnead said in an oddly satisfied, grating voice. I saw that he was still holding the shard of iron in his bloody hands. “Does the trick…every time.”

With some color already returning to Merrick’s face, I held my hand out to Finnead. “Give that to me,” I said, looking at the shard.

He grinned oddly. “Can’t…it’s fused…” He turned his palm over and to my horror the iron shard didn’t fall from his skin.

“Let me get it off, then,” I said hastily, standing. He shook his head, cradling his hand to his chest and looking at it with a slight grimace.

“Bandage his chest,” he said. “In my bag…”

I walked hastily around the bed and found the packet with the bandage. Merrick was able to sit up shakily on his own, after I helped him at first.

“What’s wrong…with the Vaelanbrigh?” he asked, real concern coloring his voice.

“He’ll be fine,” I told him, even though I was a little concerned. I hadn’t known iron was that caustic to Sidhe flesh, and it amazed me that Merrick had survived having that shard inside him. “How long were you wounded?” I asked him.

His brow furrowed. “Three days…I think. In the first attack. I was with the patrol.”

I nodded and finished bandaging. My work didn’t look anywhere close to as neat as Allene’s original job, but it would do.

“Thank you,” said Merrick, laying back. He smiled at me a little wearily.

“Don’t mention it,” I said, turning quickly to Finnead. I knelt on the floor in front of him, holding out my hands. “Let me see.”

He grudgingly gave me his hand. The long shard of iron was fused to his palm just to the side of his thumb. I touched it experimentally, and despite his efforts to hide it, I saw him flinch. He handed me the knife wordlessly. After wiping the edge clean of Merrick’s blood, I steeled myself and set the flat of the blade against his palm, so the edge was against the iron. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall. I angled the edge down a bit—I didn’t want to miss anything—and applied steady pressure.

Dark blood welled from Finnead’s palm. He breathed in sharply and I heard a sound of sympathy from Merrick. But I kept pressing, testing with the edge of the knife until the shard of iron lifted slightly when I applied pressure upward. I cut quickly, prying up the bloody shard with my other hand and trying to ignore Finnead’s low sound of pain.

“There,” I said breathlessly, tossing the shard to the floor and pressing on the freely bleeding wound with both hands. “Done.” I peered down at the gash, thinking sickeningly that I had made it. “You might need stitches—I mean, if your healers use stitches—”

“No,” he said without looking at me.

“I’ll just wrap it then,” I said.

Finnead kept his head tipped back against the wall. I dug in his bag with one hand, trying not to get his blood all over everything and only marginally succeeding. I found another package of bandages, ripped it open with my teeth and wrapped the cloth firmly around his hand, ignoring the tingling feeling at the base of my spine as my bare skin touched his. I cut the bandage with my own dagger, and tucked the edge in as neatly as I could. “Is that…is that all right?” I asked, blushing at my sudden stammer.

Finnead raised his hand, looking at the bandage. “It will do,” he said.

I sat back on my heels, trying to push down the wave of unhappiness that rose up in me at his indifferent tone, his cool gaze. “I just cut a piece of iron out of your hand,” I said to him. “The least you could do is say thank you.”

He gazed at me for a moment, his face as smooth as marble. “Thank you,” he said finally.

I picked up the iron shard and savagely cut a piece from the extra bandage, wrapping the iron and stuffing it into my pocket. Finnead stood and watched me, observing my jerky movements with a slightly arched brow. I smiled briefly at Merrick, and then turned on my heel and strode from the room.

In the other room, I found Ramel, Emery, Donovan and other Fae I didn’t know still bent over the map, deep in conversation. Ramel looked up and the conversation stilled as they noticed me. Their gazes stayed riveted on my hands. I looked down and realized that blue-black blood covered my hands—Finnead’s, gleaming wet; and Merrick’s, from when I had wrapped the bandage around his chest. I quickly shoved my hands behind my back, clearing my throat.

“How is he?” Emery asked softly.

“He’ll probably live,” Finnead said, his catlike steps silent as he slipped around me, his own hands scrubbed clean and his healing-bag packed once again. The others made no comment about his wrapped hand, and I got the nasty feeling that Finnead and the healers were all too used to iron-burned skin and bandaged hands. He didn’t even look at me as he took his chair by the map again. I stood awkwardly, feeling distinctly out of place. Ramel caught my eye. He raised his eyebrows, and I shrugged. He said something in a low voice to Finnead and then stood, buckling on his sword.

“I have to talk to you,” I said to him quickly as he neared.

“I know,” he said in a nearly inaudible voice. Louder, he said, “Come on then, Tess, I’ll give you a proper tour of the place.”

After tossing me a rag and waiting for me to scrub my hands clean as best I could, he led me out of the room, into the entry-room and out of the barracks altogether. I took in a breath of the fresh air gratefully, letting it wash away the lingering scent of the infirmary. Outside, dusk sat like a canopy of gray silk above the tree-branches of the nearby forest.

“It’s past sunset already?” I asked in surprise. It had been just after midday when Vell and I had arrived at the barracks, and I couldn’t understand where the time had gone.

“You were in the infirmary with Finnead for a good while,” Ramel said. He seemed distracted, his words lacking their usual humor and his eyes shifting restlessly, devoid of their usual flirtatious spark.

“What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.

We walked around the back of the barracks. Pairs and small groups of Fae walked past purposefully, giving us no more than a second glance. I liked the anonymity: unlike at Court, the Sidhe were focused on the serious task at hand, and they cared little about a strange-looking young woman in their midst, as long as she was accompanied by someone well known.

Ramel stopped. We stood in a small clearing, a good distance from the barracks. I wondered if it was safe to stray so far from the stronghold, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax.

“You have to believe me, Tess,” Ramel started, his voice heavy. He stood with his back to me, and I had to strain to catch his words. “I didn’t know.”

I frowned. “Didn’t know what, Ramel?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, the line of his mouth hard and unhappy. “I didn’t know you were the same girl. It’s hard to recognize mortals after a few years. You change…so quickly.” He shook his head. “But I should have known anyway.”

“So we did know each other,” I said softly. I knew we should have been talking about the attack on the patrol, my escape from Darkhill, my discovery of my power—but the subject of my past, my very first years of life that lived in the hazy reaches of my memory, drew me like a moth to flame.

“Back in those days—I know it wasn’t long ago, even in mortal time, but there was still much less darkness in these lands,” he said, gazing out into the woods. “I was younger, and foolish enough to trust one of the White Queen’s ladies.” He smiled crookedly. “You see, I thought I was in love with her, and…” He shrugged. “Love makes a man do stupid things.”

“Are you talking about the blue rose garden?” I asked softly. “Because yes, it was a shock to me too, to realize that I did know you from someplace else, that it wasn’t just simple déjà vu.” I shook my head. “But I can’t see why that’s such a stupid thing.”

“You were young,” Ramel said. “Such a very pretty mortal child. I came to think of you as my younger sister, really.”

I winced a little, thinking of our kiss. “I guess you got over that,” I said, my voice light and teasing.

“I should have realized,” he said, his voice hard.

“What happened?” I asked softly. “Please, just tell me.” All the anger that I had felt at Ramel for keeping the knowledge of the blue rose garden—and my abilities—from me evaporated, replaced by a sickly anticipation.

“Do you know what a changeling is, Tess?” Ramel asked suddenly, half-turning so I could see the glint of his eyes in the fading light.

“In fairy tales,” I said, feeling sick, “that’s when the fairies steal away a human child, and replace it with a fairy child.”

He nodded.

“I’m not…but I’m not Fae,” I burst out.

Ramel smiled mirthlessly. “No,” he said flatly, “you’re not.” He turned to me with that humorless smile still on his lips. “Changelings were against the Code—are against the Code. Even before the Code they were a matter that was never directly addressed, a nasty little habit of certain members of the Court that was overlooked for propriety’s sake.” He shook his head. “But I should have known that something was afoot when Evaine asked me to take you.”

“You couldn’t do it,” I said, relief and a peculiar feeling of empathy washing over me.

“No.” He shook his head. “I failed. I couldn’t even spirit away a mortal child.” With a glance at me, he smiled again. “I never did figure out how you managed to slip away from me…how you knew what to do. I wasn’t sure about it to begin with, even though Evaine assured me that Titania would take good care of you. I had no doubt about that, but…it still didn’t seem right. And so when you came to the blue rose garden that night, we played your favorite game—”

“Marbles,” I said softly. “You always brought marbles with spinning lights in them, and jacks that jumped about on their own.”

A ghost of a smile touched Ramel’s lips. “You were a precocious child, but you always liked old-fashioned games.” Then he seemed to shake himself. “But in any case, we finished playing marbles, and then I took you on my hip, and began to walk through the garden toward the gate.”

“The rose garden,” I said. “It wasn’t in my world or your world, was it?”

“No,” Ramel replied. “It exists in the ether-world, between the mortal world and this one. I’m not a Walker, so Evaine brought me. Except that last time. She gave me a candle to burn, and it brought me to the rose garden on my own. When the candle-flame went out, I would be taken back to Faeortalam—along with anyone that happened to be touching me at the time.”

“Why did they want to take me?” I asked softly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“They knew,” said Ramel. “They must have known that you were of Gwyneth’s blood.”

“Why not Liam? He’s older and stronger than me,” I said.

“Stronger physically, but a priestess’s power favors the girl-children of her line.”

“So Liam doesn’t have any power.”

“He may, or he may not. It might just manifest differently than yours—often mortals misconstrue the lingering power of the old days, and they call it a sixth sense, or something like that.”

I nodded. “He probably has some of it then. He can read people well, and he’s told me that he has a sort of sixth sense when it comes to danger on the battlefield.” I swallowed. “Why didn’t you take me, Ramel?”

Ramel chuckled. “You didn’t want to go, and you…you got away from me.”

“I got away from you?” I said blankly. “You were what, at least a squire or something then, weren’t you?”

“I was Finnead’s squire, actually.”

“I was about six?” I said.

“Five, actually. Just before your sixth birthday,” Ramel corrected me blithely.

“So…please tell me how a six-year-old girl got away from a Sidhe squire.”

Ramel grinned. “You wanted to play hide and seek again, so you blew out the candle. And you disappeared.”

“And you never got a second chance,” I said, thinking with a cold feeling of the roses on my father’s casket, the withering petals on his grave when we visited the next week. “You weren’t…punished…were you?” I asked breathlessly, taking Ramel’s elbow.

He shook his head. “It was a secret that few knew…and Evaine never spoke to me again. That was punishment enough. But I realized eventually that she was probably just carrying out an order from her Queen.”

“From Titania,” I said.

“Yes.” He looked at me. “But maybe it would have been better for you, Tess.”

I stood silently, looking into the gathering darkness.

“If you would have been here…if Titania would have taken you under her wing, trained you, taught you how to fight and how to use your powers…”

“Then maybe Molly wouldn’t have to try and be the hero,” I said when he trailed into silence. “But I can’t imagine…living here. It’s beautiful, and I love it now, but…” I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have had a childhood. I wouldn’t have known anything about mortal life.” I spread my hands. “That’s what made me who I am,” I said, “because even though losing my dad, and seeing Liam searching for something to hold onto, and seeing my mother let us down, let herself down…even when I was the only one who didn’t have a date to the senior prom, and had to go with my best friend…that’s what makes me, me,” I said earnestly. “I can’t imagine what I would have turned out like if I had grown up here. No offense, but I can’t imagine Titania being the maternal type.”

Ramel nodded. “You would have been trained to hold a sword as soon as you could, and by now your arrows would take out a squirrel’s eye at two hundred paces.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been nice,” I agreed, “but I like to think that I turned out all right anyway.”

“You’re different than the little girl in the rose garden,” Ramel said slowly.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“I can’t explain it. But when you first came to Court, there was something missing from you that the little girl had in the rose garden…something you just recaptured, because I didn’t recognize you without it, and now…I don’t know how I ever mistook you for a stranger.” He smiled at me.

Tilting my head to one side, I asked, “If I hadn’t blown out the candle…would you have taken me?”

Ramel stared into the distance for a long while. Then he finally said, “No, I don’t believe I would have. You talked about your brother Liam. I knew he loved you very much, and I would not have been able to take you away from him.”

Grinning, I poked him in the side with one finger. “Well, look at that. I do believe there’s a real heart underneath all that sarcasm and flirtation after all.”

Ramel arched one eyebrow as he looked down at me. “If you tell another soul that I have real emotions, I shall hunt you down in your sleep.”

I laughed. “Duly noted.”

He suddenly looked a little sheepish. “I know this isn’t exactly in keeping with my roguish nature, but…may I give you a hug?”

I smiled, suddenly feeling very much like a younger sister again. “Yes.”

Ramel hugged me fiercely, as if to make up for all the years since he had seen me last. A ghost of a childhood memory drifted across my mind—I faintly remembered his scent, a wild blend of something like pine needles and snow.

“You smell like Christmas,” I murmured into his shoulder. He stiffened in surprise, and then ruffled my hair. I made a sound of protest and he laughed.

“Yes, you’re certainly her,” he said. “You told me that before, and you were equally as fussy about your hair when you were a small human.”

“I am not fussy about my hair,” I said in protest. “I just don’t like it to be all frizzy and—oh, never mind.” I shook my head. “Boys never understand.”

Ramel chuckled. “So I’ve been told.”

We stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, watching the last stain of light fade from the sky.

“So I’m guessing that when I stopped Walking,” I said thoughtfully, “it became a lot harder to find me, or track me.”

“In a sense, yes. Mortals who use the taebramh are very easy for us to find in the mortal world. Otherwise, it is like finding a camel in a haystack.”

I cleared my throat, suppressing my smile. “Um, I think you mean needle in a haystack. It’s ‘needle in a haystack’ or ‘camel through the eye of a needle.’”

“Oh.” Ramel grinned. “That makes much more sense, actually.” He glanced up at the sky. “Well, we’ve still got a bit of light. I hear you’ve been getting extra instruction from the Glasidhe.”

I grinned. “Oh, yes. They’re hard little taskmasters, too.”

“Worse than me?” he asked in genuine surprise.

“It’s a tough call,” I replied.

Ramel drew his sword, the metallic hiss ringing out in the small clearing. A few passing Sidhe paused in their errands. “So,” he said, tossing his sword from hand to hand and swinging it idly, “do you need time to warm up, or shall we just have at it?”

Swinging the quiver from my back and laying it atop my cloak and bow, I drew my own sword, testing the soreness of my legs. My muscles protested stiffly, but a few lunges and toe-touches cured most of the creakiness. I was careful to hold my sword solely in my left hand, even though Flora and Forsythe had relentlessly drilled me with my sword in my right hand as well. Curiously, I wondered what the taebramh would do with sore muscles; I called up a tiny spark, barely enough to see in my mind’s-eye, and split it, sending one minuscule glimmer to my left leg, and the other to my right leg.

Ramel misinterpreted the look of surprise that flitted across my face, calling out teasingly, “Did you forget the weight of a sword, Tess?”

I shook off my surprise, replying, “Something like that.”

My legs felt good. They felt more than good—they felt better than when I was at the peak of conditioning, well-rested and full of energy. I knew that using the taebramh would cost me in energy later, but for now I was delighted with the idea of giving Ramel a surprise. I grinned, and lifted my sword.

“First to three touches?” Ramel suggested.

That was longer than our standard spar, but I felt like I could run a marathon. I barely noticed the small group of knights and guards that had gathered at the edge of our make-shift sparring ground. “Sounds good to me,” I said. “Do we need a referee?”

“It’s a friendly match. No need,” said Ramel, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested something other than friendship. A surge of adrenaline washed over me, my own competitive side rushing up fiercely to meet the challenge in my mentor’s eyes.

Ramel made the first move, lunging forward and swinging his sword in a crescent pattern. I blocked the stroke almost effortlessly, my feet dancing across the grass in the complex footwork of the counter-sweep. The clash as his sword met mine rang out through the open air. I quickly disengaged, spinning away and resuming my guard. If it came to raw strength, Ramel would win, so I needed to avoid locking my blade with his in close quarters.

A flurry of quick strokes tested the defense that Flora and Forsythe had so carefully drilled into me. They had taught me how to best use my strengths against a larger, stronger enemy, so I didn’t let Ramel have any rest after his series of attack strokes, launching a volley of my own that drove him back across the grass. A small frown appeared on his brow—he usually scored the first touch within a few strokes, and we had gone through three attack-and-defense series already. I felt sweat prickle on the back of my neck.

Ramel scored the first touch when I failed to recognize a feint, his blade pricking me coldly on my left shoulder. I smiled at him and then coolly dissected his defense, watching for any opening, and his eyes widened when I snaked my sword past his blade to nip his chest.

“Well done,” he said, grinning.

“Not the first time I’ve scored a touch on you,” I pointed out with an answering smile as I shifted my grip on my sword.

“But it’s the first time I haven’t let you,” Ramel replied.

I had enough time to feel a flash of indignation before Ramel lunged into a series of attacks that left me stumbling back across the grass. He caught my sword in a down-stroke and slid his blade so that we were locked in a cross-body press, the worst situation for the weaker opponent. I clenched my teeth as he bore down mercilessly, and as I tried to slide away my knee buckled under the weight. He laid his sword against my neck as I knelt in the cool grass, my face burning at the murmurs from our impromptu audience.

“Would you like to let it be at best of three, instead of first to three?” Ramel asked, not unkindly.

I stood and brushed the grass from my knees. “If it’s all the same to you,” I said coolly, “I’d like to go to three.”

He shrugged with a cocky smile. “Very well.”

We circled each other warily, swords held in guard, the blades catching what little light remained. Then I noticed that it was suddenly much easier to see: the Glasidhe hovered well above our blades in a ring, our own faery stadium lights. I grinned and concentrated on Ramel’s chest, watching for indication of his next move. He feinted to the left, then thrust at my right side. I blocked his stroke with a reverse crescent, and rather than swinging my blade back to guard, I tossed my sword into my right hand smoothly, cutting inside Ramel’s guard and neatly touching the tip of my sword to his chest. His eyes widened gratifyingly in surprise, and the appreciative sounds from the crowd bolstered my confidence. Ramel had never fought me right-handed, but he adjusted quickly, keeping more of a distance from my blade and watching my wrist carefully so that I couldn’t surprise him by switching hands again.

The next touch would win the sparring match. I concentrated grimly, shoving my own surprised thoughts into the back of my head. The taebramh in my chest burned brightly, its glow spreading warmth outward like a burning swallow of whiskey. I leapt forward, throwing myself into an assault that tested every aspect of Ramel’s defense. The clash and clang of our swords accompanied my heavy breathing, sweat sliding down my back as I thrust the point of my sword at Ramel’s torso. He blocked, and then his sword snaked around mine. I realized his intent an instant too late: he flicked his wrist and my sword was wrenched from my hand. I struggled not to show my disappointment as he touched the point of his blade to the tender spot just above my breastbone. Ramel lowered his sword and retrieved mine from the grass, gallantly offering it to me hilt-first.

“You are almost an entirely different swordsman,” he said. At my baleful look, he corrected quickly, “Swordswoman. My apologies.”

I shook my head and smiled, taking my sword from him and sliding it back into its sheath neatly. Ramel touched my shoulder and motioned to the side with his sword.

“Looks like you’ve attracted quite a crowd, pretty one.”

About a dozen Sidhe had gathered in a loose semi-circle around us. I’d noticed them during the spar, but I had been so focused that it hadn’t mattered. Now I felt a blush burn my cheeks.

“Why are they still staring, Ramel?” I asked under my breath as I picked up my quiver, bow and cloak, using an edge of the cloak to wipe the sweat from my face.

“Maybe because you haven’t introduced yourself,” Ramel suggested in an undertone. He raised one eyebrow. “How rude.”

“What, should I just say…hey, I’m Tess, the new mortal in town?” I whispered fiercely as I rerolled my cloak.

“Something to that effect,” Ramel replied.

I rolled my eyes at him and stood, facing the loosely gathered group. “Hello,” I said, clearing my throat. “Well, I’m no good at introductions,” I continued awkwardly, the beginnings of a blush surging up through my cheeks once again. “I’m Tess, and I…” I trailed off, trying furiously to think of something to say.

“Tess graciously joined us at our merry little outpost this afternoon,” Ramel said smoothly, coming to my rescue. I shot him a grateful look and he grinned at me before continuing. “In case you have been living under a rock—or not at Court,” he continued cheekily, “she is the beautiful doendhine who accompanied the half-blood through the Gate, escorted by our very own Vaelanbrigh.”

At the mention of Finnead, a few of the gathered knights called out in their own language, something that sounded like a battle-cry. Ramel grinned broadly.

“And she has joined us at our camp to help in whatever way her pretty mortal self can,” he finished. With a flourish, he took my hand and kissed it in a courtly but half-mocking fashion. I shook my head and grinned. The group laughed and called out teasingly to Ramel, and one even whistled a cat-call.

“You enjoy an audience too much,” I said to Ramel as he finally released my hand from his grip.

“No harm in that,” he replied. “See, look, they only wanted to know who you are. It’s not often they get to see such a superb display of swordsmanship, and it is a bonus that you are a beautiful mortal.”

“Stop saying that.” I shook my head as I untied my braid, re-plaiting it with practiced fingers.

“I only speak truth,” Ramel replied.

Before I thought of something else chastising to say, the Glasidhe descended on me.

“You did quite well, Tess!” Flora said.

“But you could have had a tighter guard,” broke in Forsythe.

Wisp landed on my shoulder. “The other Sidhe were rooting for you,” he said into my ear. “And look who we found!”

“We found you,” corrected Farin, tossing her short hair as she hovered in front of me. “Would you like a report, Lady Tess?”

I suppressed a smile, both at Farin’s honorific and at Ramel’s look of amused suspicion as the glows surrounded me, completely ignoring him. “Yes, that would be very helpful.”

Forin and Farin hovered at eye-level a comfortable distance away, standing very straight as they delivered their assessment.

“We followed the rescue party, as you asked,” began Farin. “It took them two days of hard riding, without stopping at night, to reach the site of the battle.”

“The original patrol was ambushed a half-league north of here, where the forest meets the foothills of the Edhyres,” said Forin.

“The Edhyre range proper does not start for another week’s ride, but the foothills stretch across the low-country for a good while,” clarified Farin. “The patrol suffered significant casualties, such as have not been seen since Bratchith the Blue awoke a century ago in the mountains and pillaged Queensport.”

“Bratchith the Blue is a dragon,” Wisp whispered into my ear.

I had to work hard to keep track of all the speakers, but it was valuable information. I motioned for the two small scouts to continue.

“The rescue party met the retreating patrol a half-day’s ride from here, in the forest. They were still being harried by…by the Dark things.” Farin stumbled over the words, and turned to her brother.

“The Shadowservants,” Forin said firmly. “They hid in the trees, in the shadows, with their iron.”

“We knifed one,” added Farin fiercely, showing her tiny, pointed teeth.

“Good,” I said just as fiercely, remembering the deformed creatures at the Saemhradall and their twisted joy in the pain of the Sidhe girl.

“And then we followed them back here,” Forin finished. “You arrived a day after them. We were about to depart back to Darkhill to report to you.”

They looked at me expectantly, their glows pulsing with their wings.

“Thank you,” I said to them. “You’ve done very well, and I appreciate your work very much.” Then I paused. “Did you by any chance see their Walker, a few days ago?”

Forin turned to Farin, who said in a small, sad voice, “Their Walker was killed.”

“By someone here?” I asked.

“We do not know,” Farin said, her voice trembling.

I could see the question upset them, and Ramel had suddenly gone very still, listening intently. “Thank you,” I said to the glows. They bobbed in their version of a bow, and then whizzed away into the deepening dark.

“Well, look at you,” Ramel said. “You have your own little spies.”

“You left me behind,” I said defensively. “I had to do something.”

Ramel ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. “I wonder if you are too invested in our world for your own good, Tess.”

“I don’t have a choice. Bound here by Mab, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Then save the patronizing for someone who needs it.” I crossed my arms and looked at him silently.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “You don’t need my protection anymore.” He rubbed his chest where I had pricked him with my blade.

“I’m not saying I don’t want you to teach me anymore,” I said, thinking with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the conversation I wanted to have with Ramel right now. “That’s not what I was saying at all.”

Ramel shook his head with a small smile. “Not everything has to be said aloud, Tess. I’m not mad at you, if that’s what makes you so tense.” He toyed with the hilt of his sword. “There comes a time when every student matches their teacher. I just didn’t think it would come so soon.”

“I didn’t match you,” I protested. “You still won.”

“Barely.” He grinned at me. “You know, I believe that you’re right, my dear. Even though you grew up in the mortal world, you still turned out all right after all.”

“Well, thanks for that assessment,” I said drily. My stomach growled loudly. “Is there any food around this place?”

“Only the best,” Ramel said with false cheer. “Bread and cheese and dried meat for the victorious defenders of the northern barracks!”

“Well, that sounds marvelous right about now.”

“Your wish is my command! Bread and cheese it is,” he said.

I followed him back to the barracks, breathing in the cool night air and watching the Glasidhe fly like impossibly close shooting stars across the velvet-dark sky.

Chapter 26

I spent that night on the floor of the middle room, curled close to the embers of the fire with my cloak rolled under my head for a pillow. Allene and two other healers worked in shifts throughout the night, and every so often a watch-stander would walk through the sleeping forms on the ground, nudging with their toe until they found their replacement. So it wasn’t the best night of sleep I’d ever had, but the interruptions at least served as a barrier against deep dreaming, and, in turn, against Walking. Part of me wanted to Walk to the river-tree. I wanted to smell its sweet scent again, and curl my body in the hollow between its roots. I didn’t know why I had such a strong desire to return to the tree, other than it was the setting of my dream about Finnead. I told myself firmly that it was just a dream, and pushed all other thoughts of the river-tree from my mind as I settled back down into fitful sleep.

In the gray early hours of the morning, I rose with the others and blearily strapped on my sword-belt, swinging my quiver and bow over my shoulder as I grabbed a piece of stale bread and dried meat from the table against the wall. One of the night sentries had shot a brace of squirrels, and an off-duty healer set about skinning and dressing the carcasses. My mouth watered at the thought of roasted meat, but I followed the others out into the cool soft morning. In the dew-laced field where Ramel and I had sparred, the Sidhe set up targets, and we practiced sinking our arrows into them. The practice area was eerily silent, broken only by the twang of released bowstrings and the hiss of the arrows through the air, followed by the soft thud as they hit the targets. Occasionally one archer would offer advice to another, but for the most part it was individual, focused practice. My arm ached by the time we were done an hour later, but I noted with satisfaction that my arrows had found their mark a good portion of the time, and the other archers hadn’t looked at me scornfully (or taken any particular notice of me at all, to my relief). Tension stretched the air, leavening the cool morning with a sense of watchfulness. I glimpsed Sidhe in the trees, sentries springing up into the branches with the lithe powerful grace of panthers, all of them with a quiver and bow slung across their back.

I spotted Vell standing across the clearing and Beryk slinking through the shadows of the trees as I approached. He watched me with his golden eyes, and even though I hadn’t said a word, Vell said without glancing at me, “Good morning, Tess. How are you finding the barracks?”

Shrugging, I said, “I don’t know what I expected. But this seems like so much…waiting.”

“That’s one of the most unexpected parts of war,” she replied, turning her honey-colored gaze on me like a sudden beam of light sweeping down from the sky. “The waiting. The wondering, and worrying, and sitting uselessly for days at a time.”

“Why are we staying here, then?” I asked.

“Because they can’t move the wounded, and there is no shelter from the Darkness between here and the Queen’s protection.”

“If Mab is so powerful, she should be able just to…” I swept my arm through the air. “Put a blanket of protection over us, until we’re back to Darkhill.”

Vell smiled, her eyes narrowing as she considered me. “I hear the bitterness in your voice.” She leaned back against the tree trunk, her smile stretching into a mirthless grin. “Bitterness is something I know well.”

Beryk padded in slow circles around us. He stopped when he faced the forest, standing stiff-legged, his ears twitching as he surveyed the shadows alertly. A low growl rumbled from his throat.

“He can smell them,” Vell explained quietly, walking up beside the wolf and running her fingers lightly through the fur on his neck.

“So they’re here, waiting.” I strained my eyes staring into the mottled darkness of the forest.

Vell nodded. “Waiting.”

“For what?” I wondered aloud. Was there some signal, a red flare that would shoot up into the night and tell the creatures it was time to attack? Perhaps Malravenar could just think of attacking us, just let the order drift through his mind, and his servants would fire their iron-tipped arrows and ride their ghastly beasts out of the forest.

“For a sign of weakness.” Vell gazed into the forest for a moment longer, and then turned back to me. “That is why there is waiting in war. You wait for weakness…a sentry drifting into sleep, a cold rainy night that provides cover for movement…then you strike.” Beryk snapped his jaws as Vell uttered the last word in her statement, as if he were clamping his teeth on the throat of an unsuspecting deer.

“Well, let’s hope we don’t show any weakness until Molly gets here, then,” I said. My stomach growled loudly: the quick breakfast of cheese and bread had hardly been satisfying. Vell wordlessly opened her belt-pouch and drew out a small leaf-wrapped packet. Opening it, she offered me a small piece of the dense black bread.

“You only need a bit of kajuk in your stomach to go a long way,” she said, breaking off a small piece for herself as well.

The kajuk tasted entirely different than any bread I’d ever tasted: nutty, slightly sweet and tangy. I worked hard to keep my expression neutral but failed as an intensely bitter aftertaste assaulted my mouth. My nose scrunched of its own accord but as I began to stammer an apology I noticed a twinkle of amusement in Vell’s eyes.

“I told you I was used to the taste of bitterness,” she said with a straight face.

I rolled my eyes and finished the kajuk. “I thought you were speaking metaphorically.”

Vell shrugged. “Perhaps I was, and then again perhaps I was not.”

“Well,” I said, swallowing, “even though it’s not my favorite taste in the world, my stomach isn’t growling anymore. What do you use to make it?”

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.” Vell popped the last piece of her kajuk into her mouth and then turned, walking along the border of the forest toward the barracks.

“I didn’t see you inside last night,” I said, matching my stride to hers.

“Maybe I wasn’t inside,” she said off-handedly.

“You slept out here? With…?”

“With the creatures? Yes.”

Vell fell silent as we approached the barracks. She stopped, and I stopped, and we stood for a moment looking at each other. She put a hand on her hip. “Well, go on then.”

I realized she was waiting for me to go inside. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No,” she replied simply, still waiting. Beryk yawned and looked away disinterestedly.

With a sigh at apparently having been assigned a baby-sitter, I turned and walked to the door of the barracks. When I glanced back over my shoulder, all I glimpsed was a black tail disappearing into the shadows of the woods.

Inside, I whiled away an hour, re-coiling my spare bow-strings and checking the fletching of my arrows, running my fingers over the green-dyed feathers to make sure they were securely glued to the shaft of the arrow. The arrowheads were carved out of an incredibly hard wood, with razor-sharp edges tapering to a deadly point. Even though they weren’t made of metal, the Fae arrows were no less deadly. Then I sharpened my daggers on a stone I borrowed from one of the other Sidhe, a slim young man with oak-dark hair and deep brown eyes.

“I saw you yesterday, sparring with Ramel,” he commented casually as he handed me the sharpening-stone. He watched me draw the edge of my blade against the stone in a quick, smooth motion. “Is it true you are mortal?”

I didn’t look up from sharpening my dagger. “Isn’t it obvious when there’s a mortal around? I thought that Sidhe could…I don’t know, smell it, like a shark smells blood in the water or something.”

The young guard looked slightly bemused at my comparison—whether it was because he found it genuinely amusing or because it puzzled him, I wasn’t entirely sure. “There is something different about you,” he said slowly, “but it doesn’t feel entirely foreign, as a mortal would. Or as I’ve been told a mortal would feel,” he corrected himself.

I nodded. “I’m guessing you’ve never met any mortals.”

“No.” He smiled slightly, blushing. “I’m not interested in…in the carnal aspect of meeting a mortal, although that would certainly be…ah…interesting.”

Trying to suppress a smile, I looked up at him. “It’s fine. I’ve been told of your compatriots’ preferences.” I sat back, inspecting the keen edge of my dagger. I tested the point with the pad of my finger, and cursed when I pricked myself. A bright red drop of blood welled up from my skin, sitting fatly on the tip of my finger. I went to wipe it away and paused, noticing that the young guard’s eyes were riveted on that small drop of blood. I cleared my throat. “I’m Tess,” I offered.

“Moryn,” he replied distractedly.

“Please tell me that you don’t have any vampiric tendencies, Moryn,” I said, rubbing my finger against the dark cloth of my trousers.

“What?” Moryn blinked. “Vampir…oh, no, we find blood very unappetizing. Although there are stories of knights drinking the blood of willing mortals, very long ago, it was written into the Code that such things are forbidden.” He swallowed. “I’ve just never seen red blood before.”

“Well, I never saw blue blood before I came here,” I retorted, “and you don’t see me staring at one of your paper-cuts like Dracula.”

“Dracula?” This time poor Moryn did look distinctly puzzled.

“Never mind. Mortal story. Vampire who sucked the blood out of humans.”

Moryn had the grace to look faintly disgusted. “I must say, you have fascinating folklore.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly, sheathing my small dagger and drawing my longer one out of my boot-sheath. Moryn eyed the blade appreciatively.

“And you have good taste in weapons.”

I inclined my head. “I try. Only because I’ve had good teachers.”

“Ah. Ramel.” Moryn nodded, watching me whet the blade a few times before he spoke again. “You did not move like a mortal, when you sparred with him yester-eve.”

“I didn’t?” The slick grating of the whet-stone against my blade seasoned my words.

“No. Although you would probably be considered a bit slow, you moved like a young squire.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the insult, so earnestly delivered. “You know, for a people that has a High Court and all the trappings, you really haven’t mastered the art of polite conversation.”

“It isn’t rude to state a fact,” Moryn replied smoothly. “And you should take it as a compliment, since for a mortal to move like a Sidhe is very rare.”

I finished sharpening my blade in silence, Moryn watching calmly. After I handed the stone back to him and thanked him, I stood and stretched my legs, slipping the dagger back into my boot-sheath. I walked slowly through the room, watching the quiet industry of the guards and knights. In the middle room, two healers slept on the floor by the fire, wrapped in their cloaks. I paused, looking down at their faces, beautiful but exhausted even in sleep. The ghostly scent of blood and sweat stung my nose, but I squared my shoulders and slipped into the infirmary. Maybe I could fill my waiting with usefulness.

Candles flickered beside a few of the cots, creating dancing shadows on the walls of the long, windowless room. It felt like night, even though dawn had already brightened the sky outside. One of the healers stood at the end of the room in conversation with two other men. The candlelight glinted red-gold on one man’s hair, and I recognized Ramel. It would make sense for him to help with the healing, since even a drop of mortal blood would help him resist the poison of the iron. I started walking toward the group, my booted feet almost silent on the floorboards, and I was half-way across the room before Ramel shifted and I saw Finnead standing beside him. I clenched my jaw, telling myself not to expect even an acknowledgement of existence from Finnead.

“Tess,” said Ramel in a quiet voice that still somehow conveyed his usual flippant humor. “How nice of you to join us.”

“I thought I could help,” I said.

“You can. Don’t think we forgot about you,” replied Ramel with half a grin. “This is Eamon, one of our healers.”

Eamon nodded gravely to me. “We could use a pair of hands that can touch iron without injury.”

I held up my hands for inspection. “Then I’m your girl.” I smiled, and was rewarded by a tired smile from Eamon. He motioned to the chairs grouped loosely around a plain table. I sat down, Eamon on one side of me and Ramel on the other. Finnead remained standing. Ramel glanced at him but said nothing as Eamon spread the contents of his bag on the table, all glinting instruments and white cloth.

In the next hours, Eamon taught me the basics of doctoring the Sidhe wounded, showing me how to use the tools in his healing-pack, educating me on the signs of iron poisoning in the Fae. For the Sidhe, their skin took on a gray pallor, and their lips slowly turned blue. The flesh around the wound, if there was enough iron, began to turn black, reminding me of the grisly war-time photos of gangrene in textbooks about the Civil War. The sliver that had been extracted from Merrick was apparently a very small shard, and that was one of the only reasons a Sidhe soldier as young as Merrick survived an iron wound.

“He’ll still have a nasty scar,” Eamon explained, “as the iron residue still affects the healing flesh. But he’ll no doubt use it to his advantage with the ladies of the Court.”

“Chicks dig scars,” I agreed gravely. Ramel chuckled and Eamon looked slightly puzzled for a moment but then he continued on with my education, glossing over my reference in favor of using our time efficiently. Every quarter-hour or so he paused, walking up and down the row of cots, kneeling here and there to check a wound or lay the back of his hand against a fallen soldier’s brow. I counted the occupants of the infirmary: eleven, all said and done. I saw Merrick, still in the same bed, but with a healthy color to his skin, sleeping peacefully with a bandage still wrapped around his bare chest.

Finnead stood slightly apart from Eamon, Ramel and I, making rounds as Eamon continued to teach me. Every so often, I caught him looking at me, and the look in his eyes startled me. Exhaustion showed on his face as well, though he carried it more stoically than Eamon; and when his gaze settled on my face a peculiar sadness crossed his beautiful features. Still listening to Eamon, I observed him from the corner of my eye.

His gaze traveled from Eamon’s face as he listened to the healer’s explanations, to my face—that strange pain twisting the blue of his eyes—then onto Ramel. And when his eyes reached Ramel a shadow fell over his entire expression. Once or twice I saw his throat working as he tried to control that unfathomable emotion.

After a good two hours of instruction, Eamon made me practice stitches on a piece of cloth. I’d never been very good at embroidery, and at first the stitches were large and uneven. Ramel left to go check on the sentries, and Finnead remained a silent shadow lingering by the edge of the table. Under Eamon’s patient tutoring, I managed to produce an acceptable row of stitches binding two edges of the white cloth together, the silver needle glimmering in the dim light. When Eamon began to explain the different depth of stitch needed to close different edges of wounds, comparing the clean cut of a sword wound to the ragged puncture of an arrowhead, I had to swallow against the sudden bitter taste in my mouth. Using a needle and thread to stitch together cloth was all well and good, but the thought of piercing skin with the needle made me a little sick.

“You look a bit…unwell,” Eamon observed, his voice kind.

“I don’t really like the idea of sticking a needle into someone,” I confessed quietly, frowning as I started another row of stitches. “But I want to help. I don’t just want to sit around waiting for something to happen.”

“Why do you not like the idea of closing wounds with stitches?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…it’s one thing to put a bandage on someone, but sewing them up with a needle and thread…that hurts them.”

“Sometimes you have to hurt to heal,” Finnead said quietly from over my shoulder.

I glanced up at him. “I believe I was talking to Eamon.”

Eamon looked startled at my rudeness to the Vaelanbrigh. More annoyance prickled my spine. They treated Finnead like royalty, and I supposed he was an extension of Mab’s power, being one of her Named Knights; but in my book, that didn’t give him an excuse to be sulkily silent throughout a conversation and then jump in whenever it pleased him.

Finnead gazed down at me expressionlessly, and I coolly met his eyes with my own deliberately calm stare. “If you’d like to join the conversation,” I continued smoothly, “feel free to take a seat, instead of hovering over our shoulders.”

Ramel chose that moment to come walking jauntily up to the table. “Sentries are secure,” he announced quietly, a wink accompanying his words and conveying the clear message that he was restraining his usual exuberant self only because he was in the infirmary. He slid into the seat next to me and leaned in close, inspecting my stitches.

“Not bad, pretty one,” he said approvingly, giving my shoulder a brotherly squeeze. “You’ll soon be master of fighting and healing!”

“I look forward to patching up the people I take apart,” I replied drily.

Ramel shook his finger. “No, no, no. That’s not the point. You shouldn’t ever patch up the people you take apart. Unless of course, that person is me, and in that case patch away.” He grinned.

“I heard,” Eamon said offhandedly, “that Lady Tess came very close to taking you apart the other evening when you crossed swords.” He glanced at me and then at Ramel, keeping his face carefully blank.

Ramel shook his head and pretended to be offended. “Only because I let her score a few points. You know, have to build up confidence before battling some real creatures.”

Even though Ramel’s tone was light, I bristled a little at the words. I had battled some real creatures—even if it had been when I was only half-real. But I kept my eyes on my cloth, drawing my stitches tight, trying to make them tiny and even.

“I believe you’ll be ready to help when the next casualty arrives,” Eamon commented as he wet a cloth with a sharp-smelling green solution. He wiped each of his instruments with the cloth from hilt to tip.

“Well,” I said, “hopefully that won’t be for a long while.”

“Not now that you’re here,” Finnead said.

Ramel cleared his throat suddenly, looking up at Finnead.

“What do you mean?” I said, looking up at Finnead. I stood when he remained silent. “Tell me.” I glanced down at Ramel. “Please.”

“We believe Malravenar knows about Molly,” Finnead said finally, drawing his gaze away from Ramel. “But he does not know when she is coming, or where, or even how powerful she may be.”

A sneaking suspicion crept around my back of my head. I remembered what Vell had said about the dark forces looking for something when they attacked.

“We think that he suspects Molly already knows where the Iron Sword is hidden,” Finnead continued.

“But she doesn’t,” I said, too quickly. I cursed silently and tried to keep my expression blank under the sharpened gazes of both Finnead and Ramel.

Finnead’s blue eyes darkened and he crossed his arms across his chest, the shadow of a scowl lingering on his brow. “No,” he said slowly. “We don’t know where it is hidden, or the Queen would have sent the fendhionne to the Deadlands by now.”

“Right, as your sacrificial lamb,” I said. The bitterness in my own voice surprised me: Molly didn’t remember me, and I hadn’t seen her in weeks. But it only took the memory of hurriedly eating melting ice cream cones in the shade of the spreading oak to kindle a spark of indignation and anger.

“She will be armed with the most powerful weapon in our world,” Ramel pointed out. I noticed that Eamon was trying very hard not to show his interest in the conversation, and I wondered how much the rest of the guards and knights knew of Molly and the Sword. But keeping secrets wasn’t my concern.

“A weapon that’s going to kill her,” I pointed out.

“Sometimes one must be sacrificed for the good of many,” Finnead said, his quiet voice steely.

“Damn all that heroic talk,” I hissed. “It doesn’t do anyone any good to be called a hero when they’re dead.”

“I would think you would be more accepting of glorious death, considering your brother’s profession.” Finnead’s eyes smoldered with a quiet, hard anger.

“Leave Liam out of this,” I snapped, a crackle of fear whipping up my spine at the thought of my brother coming home in a flag-draped casket. I clenched my hands into fists to ward off the image.

“Calm down,” said Ramel from behind me, and I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to Finnead, or me, or both of us.

Finnead shook his head slightly, brows drawn down over his eyes. “Why do you want to protect this girl so? She doesn’t even remember you.”

“I know that. And that’s also because of this war of yours,” I snapped, only just remembering to keep my voice down. “But you know what? Just because she’s forgotten doesn’t mean I have, and that’s enough for me.”

Finnead shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t know. She cares nothing for you anymore. It seems foolhardy to try to protect her when she wouldn’t do the same for you.”

I clenched my teeth against a wave of pure, unadulterated anger. If we hadn’t been standing in the infirmary, I would have unleashed a tirade of curses at Finnead. As it was, I barely swallowed the scathing words. And then an idea blossomed suddenly in the very center of my mind, so quickly that it washed away all my anger and I felt a steady cool calm descend over me like a veil. Ramel stood, too, and he moved between Finnead and I. When he saw my serene expression he glanced at Finnead.

“Sometimes loyalty isn’t about expecting anything in return,” I said, serenity enveloping me softly. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because Molly won’t be carrying the Sword.”

“Tess,” Ramel said. “This isn’t something that you can stop. You can’t just forbid Molly to carry the Sword.”

I turned and looked at my teacher and friend. “Yes,” I said. “I can stop it. Because Molly can’t carry the Sword if I already have it.”

As Ramel stepped back, stunned, Finnead took a step forward just as quickly, his eyes suddenly blazing. “No.”

Raising my chin slightly, I looked him in the eye. “Why not? It all makes sense, don’t you see? I have Gwyneth’s blood. She was the last Bearer.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what happened that she lost the Sword, but it fits that I should be the one to make it right.”

“You’ll die,” Finnead said fiercely, leaning slightly toward me with the fervor of his emotion.

“It’s not a certainty,” I said. The weight of responsibility that necessarily followed my decision settled on my shoulders like a mantle and it felt good. It anchored me against Finnead’s anger. “It’s near enough a certainty that Molly will die when she uses the Sword against Malravenar, because of her Fae blood.” I spread my hands. “I’m mortal. One-hundred-percent pure-bred. Gwyneth’s blood is just a bonus.”

“You will not die because of the Sword.” Finnead half-turned, looking away from me. “You will die because a mortal girl has no chance against the evil that is Malravenar.” There was something like bitterness in his voice.

“Tess,” Ramel said. “How about we go and, ah, get some sword practice in, and then we can talk about this—”

“Why not?” I demanded, taking a step closer to Finnead. “Why don’t I have a chance? I have more power than any of you, maybe even more than Mab and Titania. Why do you think I don’t have a chance?”

“Tess,” Ramel said warningly.

Finnead turned back to me. “Because I have faced him,” he said in a low, deadly voice, his blue eyes boring into mine. “Because I barely escaped with my life, and that was two hundred years ago, before he came into the full of his power. Before he passed fully into shadow.”

In a flash I understood. “The scars on your back.” And as soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t uttered a word. Finnead went pale and still, his eyes burning darkly. “I…I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I saw it…in a dream, and I didn’t think they…it…was real.”

Finnead clenched his jaw. He glanced up at me, then turned suddenly, striding toward the door. I moved to follow him, but Ramel caught my arm in an iron grip, pulling me back toward the table and tugging me down toward a chair. He sat in the chair next to mine. Eamon had abandoned all pretense of preoccupation with his tools. He was too polite to stare, but he kept darting intrigued glances at me.

Ramel sighed heavily and raked his fingers through his hair. “I have to say, you know how to get under a man’s skin.”

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” I said guiltily. “I shouldn’t have said that about the scars, should I?”

“No, that was something best kept in your thoughts,” Ramel said, a bit harshly. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. But you must understand, there are only a few of us who know about the Vaelanbrigh’s scars.”

I thought of my dream, of the image of Finnead slowly lifting the edge of his shirt, revealing the thick, rope-like scars marring the flesh of his back. “Are they really from Malravenar?”

Ramel nodded slowly. Then he looked at Eamon. “Not a word of this leaves the room, healer,” he said sharply. He glanced over at the nearest beds; they were far enough away that the occupants, if they were awake, would hear only a murmur of voices, if we spoke softly.

Eamon nodded. “On my healing oath, I swear it. But it may be best if you tell the rest simply to the lady.” And with that, he gathered his tools and stood, walking toward the nearest bed to begin his rounds.

Ramel rubbed his eyes with his palm. “You really dreamt that?”

“Well,” I said, considering, “it was probably more than a dream. A vision. Or a mix between the two.”

“You certainly are the girl from the blue rose garden.” Ramel sat back in his chair. “It is a deformity that the Vaelanbrigh does not carry lightly.”

“Deformity?” I said indignantly. “It isn’t his fault that he has scars!”

“He sees them as a mark of shame,” Ramel explained quietly. “Two centuries ago, Finnead had just finished his years as a squire, and he was a young knight eager for his task. He told me the story himself, when I was his own squire, because back in the merry days when we held tournaments, a squire helped his lord don his armor, and I would’ve seen the scars anyway.” Ramel paused reflectively. “Finnead’s task, set before him by the Queen, was escorting the Princess on a tour of the Unseelie lands.”

“Princess?” I asked. “I didn’t know Mab had children.”

“She does not,” replied Ramel. “The Princess was her younger sister.”

“What was her name?”

He shook his head. “Her name cannot be uttered, even now. Finnead was one of the escort, and it was a task that should have been easy. Even then he had caught Mab’s eye, and there was even talk that he might wed her younger sister.”

“Did he…love her?” I asked softly, hating the tremor in my voice.

“He thought she was beautiful, and probably in time he would have loved her. But they didn’t have that time.” Ramel took a breath. “The murder of the Princess served as Malravenar’s coronation.”

“He captured Finnead?”

“Yes. Out of the eight knights escorting the Princess and her three ladies, three survived the initial attack, along with one of the ladies. Finnead was the only one who managed to escape entirely, but he gave himself up when it was promised that the lady would be set free.”

I sat back in my chair. “And the lady wasn’t set free,” I guessed.

“No, she was,” Ramel said. “Back at the beginning, even Malravenar still bound himself by the code of chivalry.”

“Who was the lady?”

“Guinna.”

I tried not to look shocked and failed. “That must have been…hard for her. She saw the Princess murdered?”

“The Princess, and five knights and the two other ladies, one of whom was her own sister.”

I silently tucked this information away, storing it for when I might need anger to use against Malravenar.

“In any case, Finnead was the youngest of the captured knights. One of the knights was the Vaelanbrigh of that time, and made Finnead promise to return the Brighbranr to the Dark Lady. He was killed slowly, tortured in front of Finnead and his companion. And then the second knight sacrificed himself, creating time for Finnead to escape but losing his own life.”

“So Finnead brought the Brighbranr back to Mab?”

“Let me tell the story,” Ramel admonished me. “Finnead made it far enough away from the encampment to hide the Brighbranr. And then they recaptured him, and…tortured him.” Ramel shook his head. “I was a boy then, and I remember that he was counted among the dead. A company of knights destroyed the encampment where he had been held, and found the Brighbranr.”

I shuddered. “I can’t imagine being thought dead by the people that care about me.”

“Malravenar—or one of his captains—told Finnead as much,” Ramel said grimly. “They told him that his own people had forsaken him, and they tried very hard to turn him to their own dark uses.” He smiled humorlessly. “But they couldn’t, and though he spent countless days in the darkness of the Deadlands, he bided his time and eventually escaped.”

“What happened when he returned?”

“Mab imprisoned him for a while, because it was thought he might be be-spelled or a ghaunt, a body inhabited by an evil spirit. She forbade any to contact him, but a few secretly disobeyed her. Otherwise, he might have died from his wounds. He passed a trial of fire a while after he returned, and then Mab allowed him to tell her the story of her sister’s death.”

A cold anger at Mab filled my chest—not a new emotion, but I was angry at her for what she had done to Finnead, and the anger intermingled with a keen, raw empathy. “It seems like Mab is a very poor leader,” I said tightly.

“Do not speak about that which you do not know.” Ramel’s voice rose a little, and Eamon glanced back at us, halfway down the row of beds. “The death of her sister nearly drove the Queen mad. She forbade us to speak the Princess’s name ever again, and she even suspected that Titania had a hand in the tragedy.”

“That doesn’t sound like Titania’s style,” I said.

“No. Most felt the same way. But then, when the Queen recovered, she vowed she would find the weapon that would ultimately kill Malravenar, and avenge her sister.”

“She had to wait two hundred years for Molly to be born? Why not just take a mortal and politely suggest that she take a Sidhe lover? It wouldn’t be that hard.”

Ramel shook his head. “The Queen was bound by her own laws, which enraged her further. But then there was a Seer who brought her a prophecy, about a girl-child, half mortal and half Fae, who would bring the weapon of Malravenar’s destruction to Darkhill.”

“Molly,” I said. “The prophecy was talking about Molly.”

“Yes. So we have the girl-child, but not the Sword, and every day sees Malravenar’s power growing. The Saemhradall lies in ashes, and even though there is no love lost between Mab and Titania, the fall of the Seelie Court will greatly weaken Mab’s power, and strengthen Malravenar.”

“The enemy of Mab’s enemy is her friend. She should’ve tried to work with Titania before the Seelie Queen was captured.”

Ramel didn’t look amused. “Again, you have a habit of talking about things which you don’t completely understand.”

I put my hands up. “Fine. Sorry. It’s just a little disconcerting to be thrown into the middle of a Fae war. I’m just saying.” I stood and stretched my legs. “I’m going to go practice with my sword, if that’s all right.”

“It would be best if you didn’t mention any of this conversation to anyone else,” Ramel said. He sat back in his chair and gave me a look that was half exasperated and half weary. “Especially the part about you flouting the prophecy.”

“I’m not advocating any flouting whatsoever,” I grumbled. “I just think you need to think outside the box on this one.”

“What box?” Ramel asked seriously.

I rolled my eyes and headed toward the practice field, eager for a good sweat to wash away the strange thoughts still lingering in my mind.

Chapter 27

As soon as I stepped out of the barracks, two glows zipped toward me.

“Lady Tess,” piped Farin. “We have been scouting.”

“It is urgent,” said Forin.

“What?” I said. “Tell me as we walk.” I turned toward the clearing where we’d practiced in the morning. Even from this distance I could hear the clash of swords, and I knew it would be filled with sparring knights and guards. The Sidhe shared my distaste for idleness. I unsheathed my sword and ran a few practice swings as we walked, loosening my wrists.

“You should fight only with your right today,” Flora said, catching up to Forin and Farin.

“We have a report,” Forin said indignantly at Flora’s interruption.

“It is important,” Farin added.

“Then go ahead and make it,” Flora said mildly, settling on my shoulder as my strides carried me closer to the sword-grounds.

“We flew far,” Forin said.

“And we killed a spy, a dark spy,” Farin said breathlessly, baring her tiny teeth and raising one of her daggers. Though it was only about half the length of my littlest finger, I saw that it was stained black to the hilt, and I found myself once again impressed with the glows’ courage.

“What kind of dark spy?” I asked, pausing at the edge of the practice-grounds beneath a large spreading oak tree.

“It was a ghaunt-crow,” Forin said darkly.

“There are many but this one was following us,” Farin said.

“I flew on and Farin circled behind.”

“It could not tell the difference between us.” A faint note of smugness colored Farin’s voice. “They are stupid creatures, even when there is a ghaunt in them, because they cannot even—”

“What is so important that you must bother Lady Tess with a report?” Flora said irritably from my shoulder. I felt her shifting her weight impatiently.

“After we killed the first crow-ghaunt, the one that was following us, we saw a flock of them,” Forin said. “We hid in a knot-hole.”

“I wanted to fight them,” Farin clarified.

“I’m sure you did what was best,” I reassured Forin as he looked darkly at his twin.

“We hid in a knot-hole,” he repeated firmly, and Farin quivered her wings indignantly but remained silent, drawing one small finger along the edge of her stained dagger.

“Stop acting like a flit,” Flora scolded. “Go clean your blade, like a proper Glasidhe.”

Farin’s aura turned a vivid shade of scarlet. She zipped away into the trees faster than I could blink.

“Was that really necessary?” I said to Flora.

“She hasn’t been herself,” Forin said. “Scouting was hard on her.”

“I’m sure it was hard on both of you,” I said, holding out a palm. Forin landed, adjusting his bow across his back. “In any case, please tell me what you’ve found.”

“We watched the ghaunts as they flew by,” Forin said. “And we saw they were carrying something, each of them, and they were…disintegrating…faster than usual.”

I frowned. “Disintegrating?”

“The ghaunts carry a spelled spirit inside,” Flora explained when Forin shook his head wearily at my question. “The malevolence of the spirit eats away at the body of the creature into which it is put by the sorcerer.”

“Like a zombie,” I said in horrified fascination.

“I don’t know,” Flora said. “You’d have to ask Wisp if that is an apt comparison. In any case, ghaunts need a physical body, so if the body is destroyed then it sends the spirit back to its master.” She shuddered. “Most of the time. The worst ghaunts are the ones that can still fight when they’re insubstantial.”

“How do you fight a bodiless ghaunt?” I asked.

“You cannot,” Flora said.

“The report,” said Forin at the same time, twitching his wings.

“The report,” I reminded myself, focusing on Forin.

“The ghaunts were carrying something,” Forin repeated. “We didn’t know what, and then Farin became ill, and I began to feel weary.”

“It’s a good thing you hid then.”

Forin waved one wing dismissively. “Lady Tess,” he said leaning forward and looking furtively from side to side. “They were carrying…they were carrying it. The deadly metal, the Great Weakness!”

“The crow-ghaunts were carrying iron?” I repeated in a hushed voice.

Forin nodded. “Yes, Lady. Little shards, each of them.”

“Which way were they flying?”

“In this direction, but not directly toward the barracks, and some broke off in groups.”

I frowned. Why would Malravenar send ghaunts with shards of iron, if not to directly attack the Sidhe? And then an idea struck me, chilling me to the bone. “Forin, did you see any of the crows land?”

“Yes, Lady, we saw one group land.”

Too deep in thought to correct him on his use of the honorific title, I asked urgently, “Did you see what they did with the iron?”

“They placed it in the ground, covering it with a small amount of earth.”

“Thank you, Forin, you’ve done very well. Please tell Farin that I thank her as well.” I sheathed my sword and Forin leapt from my palm. Flora gripped my shirt as I strode quickly back toward the barracks.

I burst into the first room unceremoniously, garnering a few curious glances. With Flora clutching at the cloth on my shoulder, I looked about quickly, and didn’t see Ramel or Finnead. Vell, though, sat by the room’s fireplace, inspecting the fletching on her arrows, Beryk curled in a black swirl of fur by her boots. He opened one golden eye as I approached, and after taking in my expression, he opened both eyes and whuffed softly to Vell.

Vell looked at me with her sharp, unsettling gaze. “What is it, Tess?”

I stopped by the chair, staring into the fire for a moment. “I think we’re in trouble.”

Vell laughed softly, looking back down at her red-fletched arrow again, her long fingers dexterously examining the feathers. “And when exactly did you have this revelation?”

Realizing she was laughing at my statement, I bristled. “Two of the Glasidhe brought back some information that I think might be useful.”

Beryk’s tail swept across the floor once and his ears shot forward. I knew Vell was listening, even though her eyes were occupied with the arrow across her lap. “They said there were ghaunt-crows, flying in this direction but not directly at the barracks, breaking off in groups. They were carrying something, disintegrating more than usual, so they followed one group.” I took a breath. Beryk’s golden gaze transfixed me. “The ghaunt-crows were carrying shards of iron,” I continued, “and they’re burying them in the earth.”

Vell’s fingers stilled on the arrow. “A fence,” she said, smiling mirthlessly. “To pen us into the barracks like so many lambs for slaughter.”

Beryk showed his teeth at the mention of lambs.

“Are you going to tell them? Or should I go tell them?” I demanded.

Vell finished examining the arrow in her hands, and then slid it lovingly into her quiver. She looked up at me. “Whether I tell them now or one minute from now, it won’t matter.” Shaking her head, she said, “I’d heard stories of how mortals are terribly impatient, but I never really believed them.”

I rolled my eyes. “I heard stories about how Northerners are terribly barbaric, but I never really believed them.”

Vell grinned at me in an unsettling echo of the wolf by her feet. She stood and slung the quiver over her shoulder. “I think you should probably believe them, Tess,” she said with a decidedly wolf-like growl lingering in the bottom of her voice.

Beryk stood and stretched. I caught a glimpse of glimmering black claws. He looked up at Vell, who dropped to one knee and hugged him suddenly and fiercely.

“Be careful,” she said to the black wolf, who licked her face and galloped out of the room.

“Where’s he going?” I asked.

“To find the fence, of course,” Vell answered, adjusting her quiver-strap about her chest. “Come on, then. I think it will probably be time to convene the war-council, or whatever the stuff-shirted blowhards decide to call themselves these days. The Grand Council of the Forest Barracks, or something, probably.” Vell quirked her eyebrows as she continued her irreverent sarcasm. I smiled a little and followed her into the second room, hoping that Finnead and the others would know how to slip the tightening noose of Malravenar’s making.

Vell disappeared into the infirmary, and when she returned, Finnead strode in her wake, white-faced and grim. I noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and I wondered if he had gotten any sleep recently. Had he simply been working in the infirmary the whole time? I knew that the iron-poison affected him less than an ordinary Sidhe, just because of the nature of his power, but I also knew that it hurt him just as badly, eventually. He glanced at me, his eyes strangely wary, and I realized that my concern probably showed in my face, softening my eyes and my lips as I looked at him. I shut away the thoughts, and carefully smoothed the expression out of my face. I knew I’d succeeded when the old aloof look crossed his handsome features and he turned back to Vell.

Finnead sent a few younger members of the patrol out to gather specific Sidhe. The younger warriors didn’t even question him, hurrying away on cat-quiet feet to carry out his orders. Eamon appeared at the door of the infirmary, his eyes questioning.

“Tell me if any of them worsen,” Finnead said to him in a low voice.

The healer nodded, replying, “It will be Allene’s watch in an hour.”

Finnead gave a brief nod and then went to the table, unfurling the neatly rolled maps. Seeing that Finnead wasn’t paying attention to her any more, absorbed in examining the maps, Vell left the room without even a backward glance. Somehow I felt a little disappointed that she hadn’t even slid a parting jibe into the tense air. I was half-tempted to follow her—what could they want with me in their grand discussion of strategy, after all? But when I took a step in the direction of the door, Finnead said suddenly, “She got the information from you?”

I stopped and drew back my shoulders a little. “Yes. The Glasidhe helped.”

Finnead stood looking down at the map, the firelight sliding slickly across the blue-purple sheen in his raven-dark hair. None of the other Sidhe had arrived from the practice-fields and watch-stations yet. The crackle of the fire weighted the silence between us.

Finally I ventured, “I’m…sorry for mentioning…what I did. Earlier,” I clarified when he looked at me inquiringly.

A small humorless smile touched his lips. “What was it that you mentioned?”

“Don’t be an ass about it,” I said in irritation after a moment. Was he trying to make me relive my mortification and confusion? “I was trying to apologize.”

His stormy blue eyes bored into me. “I suppose you can’t help what you see in your visions.”

“I didn’t know it was a vision.” My voice rose defensively. “I thought it was a dream.”

He shook his head. “Why can’t you accept that your powers are beyond your control?”

“Because they are not,” I said, even as I realized that he was partially right.

“You like being in control,” he said, his piercing gaze examining my face. His eyes hardened. “But some things are beyond your power.”

“Can you stop speaking in riddles?” I asked, half-gentling my voice so it didn’t come out rudely. “Do you mean that the Sword is beyond my power? Is that what you’re talking about?”

He smiled and looked away. “No,” he said, his face still turned away from me, “I wasn’t speaking about the Sword.”

Then the door swung open and three Sidhe walked in, Emery among them. I slipped to the side of the table, observing silently as the council arrived and took their seats at the long map-table, Finnead at the head and Ramel beside him. Since I knew precious little of battle strategy in comparison to the others, I simply stood in the background and listened, toying with Gwyneth’s iron ring and frowning in concentration. Emery, Donovan, Ramel and Finnead gathered around the map, and a handful of other Sidhe joined them. To my mild surprise, the Sidhe listened to Forsythe and Flora, and even Wisp, when the glows had something to say, or pointed out a detail they had missed on the map. Soldiers came and went through the room while they talked, carrying bows and quivers, stones for sharpening blades, and healing supplies.

“Emery,” said Finnead, “what is the latest count of able-bodied?”

“Thirty,” replied Emery.

“And we don’t know at all how many Malravenar may be bringing against us.” Finnead said the Dark One’s name without any trace of fear, and none of the Sidhe present flinched. Although my heart had fallen when I’d heard there were only thirty able to fight, a wave of pride washed over me at their courage.

They talked about defensive positions for the archers, and bringing the horses into the first room before the battle began, since the stables were a relatively recent addition, and no spells lived in the grain of its wood. I tried to pay attention, but many of the maneuvers they spoke about had no meaning for me, and at times they unconsciously lapsed into their own tongue. The Sidhe most often used Common-tongue, as they called the English language, to prevent confusion from dialects, Wisp explained to me as he took a break on my shoulder, but sometimes they reverted to their native language.

“In any case,” he said, “the Queen has always deemed it necessary and proper for the Court to keep their language skills fresh. It’s not hard at all for them to learn, you see. All it really takes is listening to a few minutes of someone else speaking the language and—” He snapped his small fingers for emphasis.

“Well, that would certainly be a useful skill,” I mused quietly.

“It is,” Wisp said affirmatively.

Then I heard my name mentioned in the conversation, and I leaned forward.

“—should be placed with the archers,” Emery finished. I felt a flush of pride, that I was included in the battle plan. Even though my archery skills weren’t quite up to Sidhe standards, I had been itching to experiment with taebramh-lit arrows. It would be interesting to see their affect on the creatures.

A Sidhe I didn’t know personally sat between Emery and Donovan. He was the largest man I had ever seen, mortal or immortal; and only his rugged handsomeness saved him from being incredibly frightening. He was intimidating just because of his size anyway: he barely fit in the chairs that comfortably held the other Sidhe, and he wore a leathery vest that looked like it was made from an entire deer hide. A necklace of sharp, dagger-like teeth hung around his massive neck. As Emery spoke of me, he looked over at me as if seeing me for the first time.

“So, the mortal blood is what I sensed,” he said with a heavy accent, almost something like Russian.

Every gaze in the room settled on me, and I struggled not to flinch beneath their expectant weight. The giant Sidhe— man, I corrected myself, because I wasn’t entirely sure he was Sidhe at all—unfolded himself from his chair, standing by the table. Watching him stand was like watching a massive pine tree grow in the blink of an eye. His coal-dark eyes glittered as he appraised me.

“She is not very big,” he said.

Ramel drawled, “Well, Kavoryk, you cannot expect every woman to be a giantess like your wife.”

I felt my eyes widen—what in the world was Ramel doing, offending a man as huge as Kavoryk? But to my surprise, Kavoryk’s black eyes sparked with amusement and he grinned, showing very large, white teeth. “True,” he said in his thick accent. “Very true, my friend. Not all women can be….” He searched for the word, and instead resorted to speaking with his hands, sketching the outline of a huge, feminine torso.

“Blessed with size?” Ramel suggested, raising one eyebrow.

Kavoryk let out a guffaw. “Yes, I like you even though you are small too,” he said between laughs, “because you know the words.”

Ramel laughed. Emery and Donovan chuckled, and even Finnead smiled a little. After Kavoryk’s amusement faded, he considered me seriously again. Ramel’s attempt to divert his attention had failed.

“But why should we trust her? I smell her mortal blood, and it is a smell that reminds me of death,” he said darkly.

I straightened my shoulders even as I wondered why mortals reminded Kavoryk of death. This huge man could snap me in half like a twig, if he wanted. What could any mortal possibly do to him?

“She possesses the taebramh,” Ramel said. “And she is trained in the bow and sword.”

“One more able body to fight,” said one of the other men.

“Or more of a hindrance than a help,” said another dismissively. “Women of our race fight well, but mortal women have seldom proven their worth in battle.”

As I bristled at the harsh words, I instinctively sought the comfort of Gwyneth’s pendant. Just thinking about it, I could feel it warm against the delicate skin of my chest. And as the metal circle pulsed with power, I received a memory, faint and distant, faded like an old photograph just pulled out of the drawer—my heart leapt as the image clarified in my mind’s-eye, because at the center of the memory was my ancestress, a tall woman clad in tight black breeches and a belted white tunic, silver glittering at her wrists and throat and ears. Gwyneth stood at the center of a raging battle, her white shirt stained with black blood, wielding a decidedly ordinary sword. As she whirled in a movement of deadly grace, I glimpsed another sword-sheath, this one larger and broader, strapped to her back, the hilt visible below the nape of her neck. That well-beaten black sheath, I knew suddenly, was the sheath of the Iron Sword.

As I watched, Gwyneth drove her sword through one of her attackers, a hideous troll-like creature with mottled green skin and matted gory hair. The creature howled its death-keen, face twisted in anguish, and blue fire ran down Gwyneth’s sword, flowing from her wrists and whipping around the throat of the creature. Acrid smoke rose from the creature’s body and it writhed, dropping to the ground in agony. She pulled her sword free, the blade slick with gore. And then she turned and looked directly at me—or whatever part of me was in her memory.

“Let no one underestimate you,” she said in a language that was not my own, but somehow I understood her. Then another troll rushed at her and she turned, wielding her sword with deadly grace.

I blinked and took a shuddering breath. It had all taken the blink of an eye—or less, because I heard the last part of the Sidhe’s statement again:

“…seldom proven their worth in battle.”

Finnead and Ramel did not respond, and their silence cut me deeper than words.

Let no one underestimate you. I took heart in the image of Gwyneth, her golden hair shining as she dispatched a troll, her blade rippling with blue fire. She hadn’t even been using the Iron Sword to defeat those creatures, and I thought suddenly that it was going to be very hard to live up to her legacy, no matter what the Sidhe believed about her. I had seen her in action, and that was enough.

Kavoryk motioned with one giant hand. “There are more here that have their misgivings about the mortal,” he rumbled.

Finnead gave one grave nod, acknowledging his concern.

“She is immune to the Weakness,” Ramel pointed out. “She can help heal.”

“What good is she as a healer if she is the reason that our patrol is being ambushed in the first place?” a broad-shouldered archer asked succinctly. “The Enemy will attack all the harder once he knows that anyone with an ounce of mortal blood is being harbored here.”

“Then he should have attacked harder when I arrived,” Ramel said acidly. The broad-shouldered archer looked at him unrepentantly.

“So what do you propose be done with her?” Emery asked the archer in his cool manner. “Should we set her loose in the forest, defenseless?”

“If she has the taebramh, she is not defenseless,” the archer pointed out.

“She’s bound to the Queen,” Donovan said.

“So is she here on the Queen’s orders?” someone asked.

I cringed at the heavy silence that descended over the room.

“I put no stock in your Queen’s orders,” said Kavoryk, “no disrespect meant, of course,” he added to Finnead, who watched him with cold blue eyes. “But if this she-mortal will cause more death, it would be simpler to let her fend for herself. It is no less than any other must do in this world.”

“And you wonder why we call Northerners barbarians,” Ramel said, his eyes burning with barely contained anger.

Kavoryk growled and made to stand, and Ramel put his white-knuckled hands on the arms of his chair. Finnead stood, and said in a hard voice, “Enough. We are knights and gentlemen, not cave-trolls brawling over a bone.”

That seemed to shame even Kavoryk, who sat back in his chair.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Finnead said, addressing the whole room, “it was the lady’s Gladsidhe scouts that brought us the knowledge of the Enemy’s trap.”

“The Glasidhe would help in any case,” said the archer dismissively.

“We would not!” Flora burst out suddenly, springing from my shoulder to hang quivering and suspended in the air just in front of me. Her aura glowed and sparked with her anger. Before I could move, she landed on the table in front of the offending Sidhe, chest thrust out in fury and wings blazing with scarlet fire. “Just because you are bigger does not mean you are all-knowing,” she said fiercely. Her dagger flashed. “And the large feel the sting of a blade just as the small do.”

“Peace, small one,” said Finnead, not unkindly. “No blades shall be raised against one another here. We have enough enemies to share between us.”

Flora glanced at Finnead, then back at the archer. Her scarlet aura faded to orange and she sheathed her dagger, giving a small bow to Finnead. “I apologize for interrupting your council, sir.”

With that, Flora flew back to my shoulder with a stiff dignity, standing like a soldier at her post. The silence settled over the table again, with both Finnead and Ramel avoiding my gaze. I took a breath, knowing that it was my turn to defend myself. I had to show them that I was worth trusting. “You should trust me, or at least that I can hold my own in battle,” I said, “because I’m a descendant of Gwyneth.” I was about to add that I was a Walker as well, but the surprised murmurings of the gathered war-council rose enough to drown me out.

Ramel stood and came swiftly to stand by my side, taking my arm. “You should have waited to make that particular announcement,” he said into my ear.

I looked at him in confusion. “Why?”

He looked down at me with a grim resignation in his eyes. “Because now they expect a hero.”

I bristled a little, watching as Donovan tried to restore order. “And who says I can’t be a hero?” I retorted.

Ramel shook his head. “Tess, it’s all well and good that you have Gwyneth’s blood in your veins, and you wear a trinket she left behind. But think, for once,” he said, his gaze burning into me. “There are some things that are better left unsaid.”

“Oh, like the fact that you and I used to play in the blue rose garden when I was a child?” I asked acidly. “Things like that?” I nodded caustically. “I completely understand.”

Ramel blinked at me, a wounded look surfacing in his eyes for an instant. I jerked my arm from his grip and turned to face Kavoryk. “If you doubt me,” I said, raising my voice so that it rang clearly over the murmurings, “then I have a challenge for you.”

“Speak of this challenge,” Kavoryk said.

I saw Vell at the door, eyeing Kavoryk and then me, her golden eyes wary. I turned my attention back to the giant man, squaring my shoulders.

“I’ll beat you in a fight,” I said clearly. A stunned hush fell over the room. I spread my hands, smiling even though my stomach felt as if it had just been filled with ice-water. “Surely you aren’t afraid of such a small mortal.”

Kavoryk shook his head. “I would kill you.”

I shrugged. “Then wouldn’t that be because of my own stupidity? It would save Malravenar’s beasties the trouble later, too.” Then I tilted my chin, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to me. “Or, if you prefer not to fight me, a wager then.”

Kavoryk loomed silently, waiting, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

“I wager,” I said slowly, “that I can throw you across this room.”

The giant shook his head and waved one huge hand at me dismissively. “Impossible.”

“Then what harm can it do to accept the wager? If I cannot, then I will get back on my horse and ride back to Darkhill, or into the forest, whichever the council decides.” My heart came up into my throat as I said the words. “But if I succeed, then I fight, and you cannot question my loyalty or my mortal blood anymore.”

“Someone get her saddle ready,” Kavoryk said dismissively.

“Then you accept?” I asked.

“It is your stupidity,” he replied indifferently.

Gwyneth, don’t fail me now, I pleaded silently as I directed the huge man to an open spot beside the table. “Stand there, please.” I turned to the rest of the council. “Will you all act as witnesses?”

“This is a childish dispute,” one of the Sidhe said. “We have greater matters to which we must attend.”

“It is not childish assuring the loyalties of all our forces,” Emery pointed out coolly. “If Kavoryk questions the loyalty of the mortal, she has every right to prove herself in whatever way she chooses.” Behind his words, I heard the faintest tinge of suppressed amusement. So Emery understood what I was about to do. Sure enough, he winked at me and then folded his hands in his lap, watching impassively.

“Very well,” said the dissenter.

“Witnesses all, then,” confirmed Donovan. He was watching me intently—he hadn’t seen Ramel thrown across the room earlier.

I turned my back to the watchers and untied the leather thong from around my neck, slipping the iron circle into my palm, hiding it from view. Kavoryk watched me, plainly unconcerned.

“A handshake?” I said innocently, offering my hand.

“No hard feelings when you are riding away,” said Kavoryk, not unkindly, gazing down at me with his coal-black eyes as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

“No hard feelings when you’re sailing through the air,” I replied coolly, and pressed the circle to his palm. With my free hand, I pantomimed a throwing motion, and with that, the big man was airborne. My little mimicked toss gave the scene a very nice theatrical flair, in my opinion.

Admittedly, I wasn’t able to throw Kavoryk across the entire room. But that was a minor detail that the witnesses forgave, as they saw a man three times my size lifted up halfway to the ceiling and tossed like a rag doll past the table. I winced a little when he landed with enough force to jolt the table. Someone hastily righted the candle that tipped over. I slipped the iron circle into my pocket, a rush of adrenaline singing through my veins. This must be what professional magicians felt like, I thought a little dizzily, except my magic was real.

None of the Sidhe went to help Kavoryk up; they were too busy staring at me. I lifted my chin a bit and took a breath. “Any questions?” I asked sweetly. Emery coughed and Finnead hid his smile behind his hand. Donovan narrowed his eyes and shook his head at me, eyes dancing with suppressed mirth.

“Well done, well done,” Flora said quietly and excitedly into my ear.

“I do not believe there are any more doubts about the mortal?” Finnead asked in his smooth, authoritative voice. I heard my own heartbeat in the dead silence that followed his question. Kavoryk glanced at me, more confused than anything else, as he walked back toward the table. I stood my ground. He strode right up to me. I barely reached the middle of his chest.

Then his massive hand descended on me, and before I could flinch he’d laid it on my shoulder, huge and warm. “This one I trust,” he announced. “And I will protect her power, from this moment on.” He looked down at me, and nodded, and stumped back to his chair, settling into it with no trace of embarrassment.

I needed fresh air, so I caught Emery’s eye. He nodded slightly, and after the conversation resumed, I walked toward the door, where Vell still stood. She turned noiselessly and followed me into the other room, and out the door into the cool dusky air.

“Impressive,” she said quietly. Beryk padded out of the shadows, pink tongue lolling between his teeth. He grinned at me, showing his white canines.

“I know you have sharp teeth. Stop smiling at me like I’m Little Red Riding Hood,” I told him, taking a few more deep breaths of the refreshing air. Even though there was no way Beryk understood my reference, if he understood me at all, he only grinned the wider.

“So you found the edge of the barrier? That was fast,” I said.

“Beryk is the fastest wolf in all the North,” Vell said without any trace of arrogance.

“How far?” I asked.

“Not far enough,” she answered grimly. She glanced back toward the door with her honey-colored gaze. “No battle plan in all the world will save them.” This, too, she said with no conceit, no sarcasm, her voice even and firm. Looking at me, she said, “You could still escape, if you wanted. Iron won’t do anything to you.”

I clenched my jaw. “I won’t do that to them. I can’t.”

“Misplaced sense of honor. Lovely,” Vell muttered. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her loose, flowing trousers.

“Are you thinking about leaving?” I asked. It occurred to me that I didn’t know whether Vell was entirely Fae.

“I have near enough Sidhe blood in me that I’d get horridly sick if I tried to cross, but I’d make it,” Vell said quietly, gazing into the distance. “I’ve half a mind to do it. What respect have they ever given me?” she asked angrily. “Anyone that isn’t purebred isn’t anyone to them at all.”

I thought of Molly. “Unless they can do something useful.”

“Unless they can do something useful,” Vell amended with a trace of bitterness. “I’m some kind of mutt, Tess. Got some maenad-blood, some Northwitch, and of course the wolf-kin.” Beryk pressed his head against her knee.

“At least you don’t have any mortal blood,” I said light-heartedly.

“That would really tip the scales,” Vell agreed darkly before she realized I was joking. I shrugged and smiled a little to show her I wasn’t offended. “Sorry. No harm meant, but that’s all I would need.”

We stood silently and gazed into the deepening dusk.

“Shouldn’t someone send a message back to Darkhill?” I said. “The Queen would surely send some help if she knew of Malravenar’s plan.”

“Perhaps she would, and perhaps she would not,” Vell replied quietly. Beryk spotted a rabbit and he shot off into the growing darkness, merging with the shadows as he chased after his prey. “I put little stock in their Queen.”

“If you’re part Sidhe, isn’t she your Queen as well?”

“She sent us no help when the Dark One spread his shadow over the North.”

I took a breath, pushing down the fear sinking its icy claws into my spine. “So what shall we do?”

Vell shrugged. Beryk came trotting back through the long grass, the rabbit in his jaws, still kicking futilely. “We can hide in the barracks like frightened little creatures,” said Vell, taking the rabbit from the wolf carefully, its blood running over her hands as it kicked fitfully, marble eyes glassing over, “or we can stand and fight valiantly, though we stand little chance.” She snapped the rabbit’s neck in one quick, violent motion. Its legs stilled. “Either way, we will die.”

I let out a shuddering sigh, trying hard to control the tremor in my voice. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not die here. I have a family, back in my world, and I think they’d miss me if I was gone.”

“Then you have more than some,” Vell said darkly. “Even if you die you will have someone to mourn you. Be thankful for that.” She adjusted her grip on the limp rabbit, holding it by its feet. Then she shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear with no regard for the blood slicking her fingers. “But enough depressing conversation. Do you know how to skin a rabbit, Tess?”

“Nope. And I’m guessing you’re going to teach me.”

“Follow me,” Vell said, slinging the rabbit over her shoulder and starting toward the practice-fields. Beryk licked his lips, watching his prey disappear, but then he turned and trotted off again into the shadowed grasses, intent on catching his own meal now that he had taken care of his mistress.

Chapter 28

I turned the spit carefully over the fire, jumping a little as a spark landed on my arm.

“Slower,” said Vell from a few feet away, sitting cross-legged with her arrows out again, finishing her inspection of her quiver. “If you turn it as fast as all that, it won’t ever cook.”

I slowed down the spit, watching grease sizzle up out of the rabbit meat. True to her word, Vell had taught me how to skin a rabbit—but she had done so by thrusting the limp creature into my left hand and her own dagger into my right hand. I’d learned by doing, which she said firmly was, of course, the best way to learn.

“This way you’ll remember,” she said.

“Or you just want me to do all the work,” I rebutted lightly, grimacing as yet another spark landed on my wrist.

“There are benefits to being learned in the ways of the world,” Vell said primly, settling back on her elbows.

“I still can’t believe that they’re allowing fires out in the open like this,” I mused aloud.

“Well, Malravenar obviously already knows our location, if he’s building the iron-ring,” Vell pointed out reasonably. “Not much more of a signal that we could give him, unless you lit yourself up like a taebramh-torch again.”

Beryk trotted into the circle of firelight, dragging a small deer behind him, stopping barely an arm’s length away from me. He settled on his haunches and ripped into the carcass, spilling dark blood into the grass. I stared, transfixed with morbid fascination as the deer’s glistening innards spilled out into the firelight.

“Beryk, manners,” Vell said to the black wolf sharply. Beryk growled a little but took one of the deer’s hind legs in his mouth and dragged the deer to the opposite side of the fire.

“He was all right,” I said in a dazed voice, looking over the fire at the wolf tearing into his kill.

“He’s not a pup anymore,” Vell said in the tone of an annoyed mother. “He knows better than to eat right in front of strangers. Not that you’re exactly a stranger,” she amended, “but you aren’t used to wolf-ways.”

Beryk looked up at me, blood dripping from his muzzle, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness, mingling with the flames of the fire.

“I suppose I’m not,” I heard myself say faintly. Then Vell was pushing me aside, taking the spit-handle from me and saying in irritation that I was going to let the meat burn.

“I know you’re just learning, but even a dullard can see when it starts to smoke,” she said.

“Sorry,” I muttered, watching as she lifted the spit from over the flames, delicately testing the meat with the tip of her dagger. I lay back on the cool grass, listening to the crackle of the fire and the small tearing noises coming from Beryk’s direction, watching the bright-burning stars appear in the curve of the sky.

“Do you think the stars will sing tonight?” I asked softly.

“No,” Vell replied, her voice heavy. “They see much more than we do, and they probably know what’s going to happen soon.”

“When do you think?”

“Maybe tonight,” the Northerner replied. “Maybe tomorrow, or tomorrow night. Who can say.”

“The waiting is the worst part.” I sat up, tucking my legs underneath me.

“But at least when you’re waiting, you’re alive,” Vell said. She grinned mirthlessly and pushed one half of the still-skewered meat toward me with the flat of her blade.

I took the meat, shuttling it between my fingertips until it cooled a bit, testing it gingerly with my tongue. As I took my first bite, Vell finished her portion, and the way she licked her lips reminded me of Beryk. After I swallowed, I said, “Do you…talk to Beryk?”

Vell glanced at me, wiping her fingertips on the grass.

“I’m sorry if that’s a rude question. I have no idea what’s courteous anymore.”

“First of all,” Vell said with a grin, “that’s a lie, because you took to most of the ways of the Court like a duck to water. I can tell how they talk to you, and how they look at you. You’re one of them. Or as close as you can be, without blood.”

I considered. “I suppose. I don’t know. I know I’m different, though.”

“Of course you are—that’s why they’ve kept you around as long as they have,” Vell replied frankly. “Honestly, I’m surprised Mab didn’t kill you after the Vaelanbrigh brought you through the Gate.”

“Does everyone in this world know that story?” I asked in irritation.

“Mostly,” Vell grinned. “You know, up North we’ve never had the same fascination with mortals as the Courts. Something to do with our level of civility, I guess.” She showed her teeth in a fierce white grin, adding another small log to the fire. “In any case, though, with all that’s been happening…a shred of hope is better than none at all.”

“Molly is the one from the prophecy, not me,” I pointed out.

“Prophesies are slippery things,” she replied.

I thought about that for a moment. “You never answered my original question.”

“No, I guess I didn’t. Yes, I could talk to Beryk in wolf-tongue, if I wanted. If a Northerner is wolf-kin, we’re born with it. Most of the time we roll around on the floor with wolf-pups as playmates, and we’re encouraged to learn their talk.” She shrugged. “But it’s hard on the voice, when you get older, and civilized folk tend to stare.”

“Understandable,” I said. “So you can talk to any wolf, not just Beryk?”

“Beryk and I have our understanding. I don’t necessarily need to talk to him to let him know what I’m thinking. But a strange wolf, yes, I could talk to them. How much they understand, it all depends. Northern wolves are the smartest.”

Beryk made a small noise of agreement, raising his head from the deer again. Vell took out her coiled bow-strings, unraveling each oiled packet for inspection. I felt lazy, just laying and staring at the fire, so I got out my daggers and sharpened them, though I’d honed their edges barely a day ago.

“Do you miss your family?” Vell asked quietly without looking up.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Mostly my brother, Liam. He’s…he’s away at war, in my world.”

“Your country is at war?”

“I suppose. It’s complicated.”

Vell nodded. “That is one thing between this world and yours that stays the same. They try to box battle up with a neat little word, one definition. But killing is messy. It’s always complicated.”

I looked down at the dagger gleaming gently in my hand. “I’ve never actually killed anyone. A person, I mean.”

“Malravenar’s servants are not people,” Vell replied, voice laden with heavy bitterness. “They are all twisted, shadows of evil spirits raging against their flesh-cages. Killing them is not messy. It is the simplest thing in the world.” Beryk growled low and long at her words.

I thought of the shadow-creatures that I’d killed at the Saemhradall. I hadn’t felt any guilt at all at killing them, which I would expect if I killed a Sidhe or a human. “I’ve killed one of them before. And it didn’t feel like killing.” I took a breath, pausing in sharpening my blades. “Does that make it more dangerous? Killing living beings and not feeling remorse or guilt?”

“When it is for survival, when you must kill or be killed, you’ll be surprised what you will do,” Vell said darkly.

We lapsed into silence. Shadowy figures moved quietly through the darkness outside the radius of our small fire’s light: sentries moving to change watch-stations, soldiers gathering supplies for their own use, swapping bow-strings for daggers and arrows for sharpening-stones. An air of tense watchfulness pervaded the camp, even with the small cheery fires burning on the practice field, and the smoke curling from the chimneys of the barracks.

I finished sharpening my blades and rolled my cloak into a camp pillow. I wondered briefly if Kaleth would wonder where I was…but I knew the Sidhe took particular pride in the care of their mounts, and those assigned to the stables would look after him well.

“There you are,” a small voice said.

I lifted my head and saw Flora, flanked by Forsythe and Wisp. Beryk followed the glows curiously with his gaze, and looked as though he was about to snap at one when Vell murmured something to him, half a world and half a growl. The black wolf went back to gnawing on a deer bone, but the Glasidhe kept well above him, just to be sure.

Flora and Forsythe landed lightly on the grass next to me. Wisp rolled himself into a wad and cannon-balled onto my stomach. I swatted at him in mock annoyance, giving way to a grin after a moment.

“We heard that you threw a giant across the room,” Wisp said without preamble, his eyes lighting up with mischievous glee.

“Was he really three times your size?” Flora asked, settling herself in the curve of my elbow. Forsythe perched on my bent knee.

“Near enough, I guess,” I answered truthfully.

“Wait until I tell Farin!” Wisp said gleefully. “That ought to teach her to call me a tale-teller.”

“You do embroider on the truth sometimes, Wisp,” I said.

“I tell the truth with a flourish,” he rebutted.

I noticed Vell gazing down at the Glasidhe, her golden eyes barely suppressing her fascination. “How rude of me,” I said. “Flora, Forsythe, Wisp, this is Vell, of the North-Country. Sorry if I didn’t sit up to introduce you,” I added to Vell, motioning to the entrenched Glasidhe.

Forsythe made his signature courtly bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Vell.”

“Just Vell, please,” she replied. “Pleased to meet you as well, Forsythe.”

“Is that your wolf?” Flora asked, leaping up from my elbow to circle lazily around Beryk.

“Well, he’s his own wolf,” Vell replied, “but I suppose if he’s anybody’s, he’s mine.” She scratched Beryk’s thick neck-fur affectionately, and his golden eyes went half-lidded in pleasure.

“Does he want to eat me, is the more important question,” said Wisp as he joined Flora.

Vell chuckled. “He wondered what you would taste like before he knew what you were.”

“At least he’s smart enough to recognize the difference between prey and…well, us,” Flora said, adventurously descending to examine Beryk from a closer perspective. The wolf watched her with just as much fascination. “Can I see your teeth?” Flora asked, and to my surprise and amusement, the black wolf opened his mouth, pink tongue lolling over sharp white canines. Flora went so far as to touch one of his teeth, her small hand barely covering the sharp tip. She back-winged a bit, and Beryk closed his jaws. “Impressive,” she told him. He grinned at her.

“Looks like Beryk made a new friend,” I said to Vell in an undertone, watching in amusement as Flora continued to inspect Beryk. Vell, watching the two, grinned.

“He’s always been the charmer,” she said with a shrug.

Wisp convinced Beryk to open his mouth again and, determined to outdo Flora, he flew into the wolf’s mouth. Beryk, surprised, closed his jaws instinctively and then promptly spat Wisp out. Wisp, unharmed except for a substantial coat of wolf-drool, shook his arms out distastefully and then decided it was only fair that Beryk cleaned up his own mess. If ever a wolf looked scandalized, it was Beryk as Wisp used the fluffiest part of the wolf’s black tail as a towel. Vell had to hide her grin behind her hand as the wolf looked to her for rescue.

“Don’t look at me,” she told the wolf, voice bright with amusement. She cleared her throat. “He’s probably a tenth of your size.”

Beryk whined.

“I know you’re too well-bred to hurt anyone smaller than you,” Vell said with a hint of pride.

“Wisp,” I said, “would you come here, please?”

Beryk gave me a look of profound relief and gratitude as Wisp zipped over to me, settling on my shoulder. Flora he seemed to actually like, as the Glasidhe delicately inspected his foot-pads. Her small hands found a few thorn-tips still embedded in his skin, and his tongue lolled in relaxed bliss as she moved from his left forepaw to his right.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep,” I said to no one in particular.

Forsythe alighted in front of Vell and asked her politely if she would mind answering a few of his questions. Flora combed through Beryk’s tail, untangling the hairs that Wisp had abused; and Wisp curled beneath my ear, as ready as I was for some rest. I rolled to my side, feeling the warmth of the fire on my back, and an odd sense of calm settled over me as I closed my eyes.

I drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours. Vell must have stayed awake, because the fire was well-tended, its heat never wavering. I heard her talking in a low voice to Flora and Forsythe now and again, and the quiet movement of the camp continued throughout the night, the silent watchfulness never abating. And even though I didn’t dream, I felt rested when the cool gray of morning swept a blanket of dew over me. I rolled my shoulder a little, to wake Wisp, and then sat up, stretching the stiffness of sleeping on the ground out of my back as best I could.

Vell had gone to sleep, after all, her head resting against Beryk’s belly. The black wolf, though, gazed at me impassively, Flora curled against his chest. I glimpsed Forsythe sleeping against the wolf’s back.

“They like you,” I told him softly.

He grinned a little, golden eyes eerily intelligent as he gazed at me.

Wisp poked at the embers of the fire with a little stick, and I helped him by putting on a log. Vell woke at the slight sound.

“Don’t bother putting any more wood on the fire,” she said. “We won’t have fires tonight.”

A slight breeze rippled through the cool morning air. Beryk lifted his nose to it, and a growl vibrated deep in his throat.

“They’ll be here by night,” Vell said, putting a hand on Beryk’s back. Whether it was for her own comfort or to settle the wolf, I couldn’t tell. She stretched her legs and her arms methodically, and then took the tie out of her long black hair, combing it with her fingers until it rippled over her shoulder silkily. I watched as she braided her hair quickly, fingers moving with supernatural speed; and she neatly fastened the braid in a knot at the nape of her neck with one long pin. I settled for shaking out my hair and twisting it into a rough bun.

“Your hair is a beautiful color,” Vell said, picking up her daggers and sliding them into their various hiding-places.

“Thanks,” I said, surprised at the girlish compliment from the tough Northerner.

“The Unseelie, they all have dark hair, and then most of the Seelie are so golden they’re almost white-haired,” explained Vell. “It’s rare to have an in-between sort of color, like yours.”

“Well, it’s not surprising considering that I’m neither Seelie nor Unseelie,” I pointed out, slipping my own dagger into the sheath at the top of my boot.

Vell shrugged. “I’m only a bit Unseelie, but their coloring is strong. It gets passed down easily.”

For some reason I thought of small dark-haired children—my children. I paused, fingers stilling in the midst of fastening my belt-buckle. Where in the world had that image of young bright faces come from? I hadn’t ever experienced an intense yearning to be a mother—I was too young for that, I supposed. But this didn’t feel like a daydream, it felt more like…like something I was sure would happen one day, an idea that would explain itself over time. I shook my head and buckled my sword-belt with a vengeance, making the leather creak in protest.

Vell took large flat rocks and stacked them in a cairn over the dying embers of the fire.

“What do we do now?” I said, feeling the still of the cool morning press down on the top of my head as I stood and gazed into the inscrutable shadows of the forest.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ll do,” Vell said. “I’m going hunting.”

“Is it safe? If Malravenar’s forces are out there, I mean.”

“Oh, they’re out there. And no, it isn’t safe. But nothing is anymore.” Vell showed her teeth in her wolfish grin. “But they still fear the teeth of a North-wolf. We made sure of that.”

A growl rumbled in Beryk’s throat and his lip trembled over his long white teeth at Vell’s words.

“I will come with you,” Forsythe said. “If you will assent to an escort, Lady Vell.”

Vell looked at the Glasidhe, narrowing her honey-colored eyes; and then she shrugged again.

“I’m not looking out for you if you can’t handle yourself in the woods,” she said warningly as she turned away, unwrapping her bow-string while she walked. Beryk trotted at her side, and I lost Forsythe’s courteous reply in the heaviness of the gray silence.

I stood by the piled stones for a moment longer, and then I turned back toward the barracks, intending to find Ramel for some sword-practice. I took out my boot dagger, twirling it idly. I dropped it, and I growled at my ineptitude, longing to twirl daggers like Flora and Farin. My finger dripped crimson and I sighed, inspecting the cut. It wasn’t deep, but it bled enough to attract attention. I swung my quiver down from my shoulder, intending to use one of the spare cloths in it for a bandage. The strap got caught on Gwyneth’s pendant, pulling at my neck, and I grabbed at the pendant with one hand and the strap with another, trying to release the pressure against my windpipe. I untangled the pendant and quiver-strap, heedless of the blood still dripping from my finger. It wasn’t as though I was going to some sort of pageant, anyway; a few bloodstains were par for the course at camp anyway.

I located one of the spare cloths and tied it around my finger. Suddenly, Gwyneth’s pendant heated against my neck. I hissed in surprise and pain, the iron burning-hot against my skin. Pulling the cord over my head, I held the pendant out at eye-level. The simple circle glowed the dull cherry-red of forge-heated iron as I watched incredulously. A few drops of my blood glistened on the curve of the metal. Flora hovered by my shoulder.

“Finally,” I heard her say under her breath.

Then, distantly, I heard the clear call of a silvery trumpet. The single clear note sent the camp into motion, sentries running to their posts and others readying their bows and swords. I went to put the cord of Gwyneth’s pendant over my head again but the iron hissed as though it had been plunged into water after being heated. I held it away from me, resisting the urge to drop it. Goosebumps crawled up my arms as the pendant glowed with a white-hot heat. No one around me seemed to take any notice, as a second clear trumpet-call hung in the air. I watched the pendant, feeling the heat of it on the bottom of my hand. Somehow it didn’t singe through the leather cord…and then the pendant began moving, small tendrils of the iron curling out from the pendant.

“What’s it doing?” I asked Flora, who was watching unconcernedly.

“Telling you something you should have known long ago,” she replied.

“Telling me what?” I said, my heart jumping strangely.

Flora’s aura glowed a deep, serene blue that I had never seen before. “Watch.”

The tendrils of iron twisted around one another, curling about the outside of the pendant and then meeting at the bottom of the curve. In fascination I watched as a small iron tree grew before my eyes at the center of the pendant, spreading its low branches to the curve of the iron circle.

“I know that tree,” I breathed as realization washed over me in a cool wave.

“As you should,” Flora said softly.

The iron tree in the center of the pendant was a tiny but exact replica of the river-tree.

“Why is it showing me this?” I took step backward, as if that would put distance between me and the revelation of the pendant.

Flora flew an annoyed circle around my head, and then perched lightly on my wrist. “Think, Tess! You are not stupid. The Last Bearer’s blood runs in your veins!” She fluttered her wings. “My people have known this secret, we have safeguarded it in case Gwyneth’s blood never returned to the True Land. But you are here, and she will tell you!”

The pendant finished constructing the river-tree, and then I felt a strange tugging sensation in my hand.

“Give it just a spark,” Flora instructed.

Watching warily, I let the tiniest spark of taebramh travel down my arm and into my fingertip. The pendant—or whatever invisible entity controlled the pendant, I thought—tugged again, and the spark left my finger, drifting like milkweed-fluff down toward the iron circle. When the taebramh-spark hit the metal, it touched off a small, silent explosion. It was like watching a tiny supernova. The white fire raced around the circle, up through the roots of the tree and through its branches, around the circle again and then stopped, glowing, a sliver of white fire in the trunk of the miniature river-tree.

“What…?” My own voice was distant to my ears. It was a moment that I knew was important, so important that time slowed around me and the world fell away as my whole being focused on that glowing sliver of silver in the iron of the miniature tree. I looked closer and saw that the white fire was not just a splinter in the trunk. It was a sword, and it was in the river-tree.

Chapter 29

“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice shaking.

“Of course you do,” Flora said. She flew to my shoulder and said into my ear, her voice low and intense with passion, “The Sword, the all-important and all-consuming weapon, the instrument of victory, it is in the river-tree!”

“Why?” I asked faintly.

“Gwyneth placed it there, deep in Mab’s kingdom. She was not a Seer, but she could feel the line of her blood stretching through the ages and she knew that her daughter would come to the river-tree in time.” Flora tugged at my earlobe. “You had better put that away,” she said, meaning the pendant.

As I watched, the white fire of the taebramh faded, but the miniature iron tree remained in the center of the pendant, and down near the bottom of the outer circle, two perfectly circular drops of blood glistened like rubies. I touched the blood-drops experimentally, and they were hard as stone. I shook my head. “This place will never stop surprising me,” I muttered as I slipped the pendant over my head again.

My mind tried to wrap itself around the revelation I had just received.

“Your blood released its power,” Flora said.

I sat down by the still-warm cairn of rocks over the dying fire. “What if I hadn’t cut myself trying that stupid trick this morning?”

“Everything happens for a reason,” the Glasidhe replied serenely.

The silver trumpet-call sounded a third time, unmistakably closer now.

“What is that?” I asked, just as Wisp barreled into sight, flying for all he was worth.

“Tess-mortal,” he said breathlessly. “They are coming! They are coming!”

I scrambled to my feet, hand going to the hilt of my sword. “Malravenar’s forces are closing the trap?”

“No, no! Not them!” Wisp shrilled excitedly. “The fendhionne! She comes by the road from Darkhill, with her escort!”

“Are you sure, Wisp?” I asked, pulling my shirt up over the pendant.

“Have I ever given reason for you to doubt me?” Wisp demanded, feigning insult.

“Of course not,” I said. I fastened my cloak about my shoulders to ward off the morning chill, trying to brush the wrinkles out of my tunic. Should I go out to the road, to meet Molly? I turned and looked back at the barracks, and while some Sidhe were walking toward the road in small knots, I glimpsed two familiar figures standing in front of the barracks. Wisp kept pace above me as I walked quickly through the long wet grasses, my boots darkened by dew.

Ramel stepped forward as I drew nearer. “There you are, Tess,” he said. “I didn’t see you in the room last night.”

“I slept by the fire with Vell,” I answered distractedly, gazing in the direction of the trumpet-call.

“You shouldn’t associate with that wild Northerner,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“I like Vell,” I said, too preoccupied to show true annoyance. “Shouldn’t they…I mean, isn’t it stupid to announce their presence so loudly? Don’t they know about the trap?”

“Either they know about it, and they do not care, or they do not know about it and it ceases to matter anyway,” Finnead replied grimly. He looked at Ramel, and then at me, clearing his throat meaningfully.

“I’ll go to meet them,” Ramel said. He touched my arm and winked at me, then strode off toward the path, leaving me looking after him in confusion. Flora tugged on my ear once and flew after Ramel, Wisp trailing in her wake.

“Tess,” Finnead said, turning toward me.

“Finnead,” I said at the same time, the awful guilt I’d felt when I’d mentioned his scars writhing in my stomach again. He started to speak again but I held up a hand and he acquiesced into silence, his blue eyes inscrutable. “I apologize for speaking of things that I don’t understand,” I said slowly, hoping he heard the sincerity in my voice.

He nodded once. “Ramel told you how I received the scars?”

Surprised, I answered, “Yes. But please, don’t be mad at him—“ I stopped when Finnead shook his head.

“I am indebted to Ramel, more than I could ever explain,” he said. “Ramel was the first to truly offer me friendship after…after I returned from the darkness.” He glanced at me. “He’s taught you well. I hear that you almost bested him, the other morning.”

I shrugged. “I still lost.”

“But you fought well. That is worth something,” Finnead replied.

I scuffed the toe of my boot in the dirt, flattening a few stalks of grass. “Fighting well and winning are two different things.”

“When you fight well, you keep your honor, and no one can say otherwise,” Finnead said firmly, and I knew he wasn’t speaking about my sparring session with Ramel. We watched the purposeful movement of the sentries and off-duty soldiers for a moment. “Apology accepted,” he said finally. “So you need speak no more about it.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

“Now, let me speak my piece, and promise you won’t interrupt.” He raised one eyebrow at me until I agreed. Then he took a breath. “Tess, I want you to take Kaleth and leave. He might be a bit sickened by the iron, but if you give him a spark of taebramh he’ll be fine.”

I opened my mouth, then remembered my promise not to interrupt, and stood there silently feeling as though I’d been punched in the stomach.

“Nothing good will come of this battle,” Finnead said, gazing out over the clearing toward the woods. I saw the dark specks of crows circling a ways off. “Our fate has been sealed, but you may still be saved.”

He stood there, silent and inscrutable and heartbreakingly handsome, until I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “I won’t go,” I said fiercely, voice shaking. “If that’s what you think of me, that I’d cut and run just before the battle—well then, you don’t know me at all.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that you would leave of your own will.”

“I’m a good fighter—you said it yourself! And if you don’t want me on the front lines, fine, I’ll stay with Eamon and Allene.”

“Even the healers are taking up their bows in this battle, Tess. We do not expect any quarter,” Finnead said grimly.

“I won’t go,” I said stubbornly, putting my hands on my hips. “If you must know, Vell already told me I should leave. Or she told me I could. And I’m still here.”

Finnead smiled. “By the stars, you must be the most stubborn mortal I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, keeping my hands on my hips as I glared at him.

The knight was silent for a moment, looking down at his boots as he spoke again. “Would you leave if Ramel asked it of you?” he said slowly, as if the words pained him.

“If Ramel asked it of me?” I repeated. “I don’t give a damn who asks me, someone will have to drag me out by my ponytail.”

He chuckled. “So even your love would not convince you. I should have had him ask you in any case. Your…distaste…for me is well known.”

“Well known to whom?” I asked incredulously. “And what are you talking about, my love?”

“It was a natural progression,” Finnead said quietly, that same pained note in his voice. The silver trumpet sounded again, just beyond the fringe of trees now. “He began as your sword-teacher, and was your first true friend in this world. And he has mortal blood, too.”

“I could really care less who has mortal blood and who doesn’t,” I said, my head spinning in confusion.

“You must understand, Tess, he helped bring me back, out of that terrible darkness,” the Vaelanbrigh continued, his voice shaking. It was clear that it pained him to talk about his relationship with Ramel. “He was my squire, yes, but before that he was my friend, and because of what he did for me…I promised myself that if ever there were anything he and I both wanted, I would step back. I would let him have the happiness that he deserved.”

I stared at Finnead. “Are you saying…?”

“Never mind what I’m saying,” he said heavily. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” I said fiercely, a high and sudden hope bursting in my chest. I took a step closer to him. “What exactly is it that you think Ramel wants?”

The pain on his face was terrible to see. It twisted my heart, and I wanted to reach up and touch his face with the tips of my fingers, but instead I clenched my hands into fists and waited for him to answer. The one word fell from his lips as though wrung from him by torture.

“You,” he said heavily.

I took a breath, trying to slow the spinning of my head. I blinked dizzily. “Me?” I repeated incredulously. Then all the pieces fell into place, all the troubled looks and heavy glances, the pain that had come into his eyes when he’d looked at Ramel, then looked at me. “You self-righteous ass,” I said wonderingly. “You thought you were being noble by letting Ramel have what he wanted?”

Finnead looked uncertain, startled by the anger in my voice.

“Did you ever think of asking me what I wanted?” I asked in amazement.

After a moment, he said, “Do you not want to be with Ramel? Are you not in love with him?”

The strange hope in his voice kindled an answering ache in my own chest, an ache I had felt so many times since being carried through the Gate in his arms. I clamped down on it angrily. “No,” I said stiffly. “I am not in love with him, and if you had taken just a moment to consider that I’m not just a thing that both of you wanted, you might have thought of asking me before making an ass of yourself.”

Despite my harsh words, a small smile spread across Finnead’s lips. To my astonishment, he closed the distance between us and rested his hands lightly on my shoulders. “Tess,” he said, “if I survive this war, I swear that I will never again disregard your thoughts in so callous a manner.” He took one of my hands in his own and brought it to his lips, kissing the tender skin on the top of my hand slowly, agonizingly. All the anger drained from my body, leaving me weak-kneed.

“Apology accepted,” I said, struggling to keep my voice level despite the golden glow engulfing my body, springing from the feel of his lips on my skin.

“That wasn’t an apology,” he said, correcting me gently. “That was a promise.”

“Then you should say when you survive this war,” I said, “because I won’t accept anything less than that.”

He nodded. “When we survive this war, then.”

“Good. A knight and a gentleman always stands by his word,” I reminded him.

“Of course,” he said with a grin.

“How touching, Vaelanbrigh,” rang out a voice across the clearing.

I stiffened, that voice striking a chord of coppery fear deep within me. Finnead let go of my hand slowly, with an unhurried air, and turned to face the Vaelanmavar, who was riding a pitch-black Fae charger across the clearing. Riding just behind him, seated on her own delicate mount, was Molly. Several other Unseelie knights rode in a loose group about them, and they all had a slightly shifty look that I didn’t like very much at all.

“I was not informed that we would have the honor of your company, Vaelanmavar,” Finnead replied in his commanding voice, words ringing out over the clearing for all his gathered company to hear.

“The Queen saw fit to send me here, to take command of this bravery-proven company of faithful soldiers,” the Vaelanmavar said. I noticed with a jolt that he wore a black eye-patch over one eye, the cord holding the patch in place blending with his dark hair. Then I shifted my gaze to Molly, and my heart sank. Her beautiful face, even more Fae than when I had seen her last, carried no trace of recognition when her eyes settled on me. A look of distaste settled over her otherworldly features, her nose wrinkling slightly and her perfect lips turning down prettily in ladylike disgust.

“Uncle,” she said in a cold, smooth voice.

The Vaelanmavar turned in his saddle, bowing his head slightly. “Yes, my dear?”

My skin crawled at the too-sweet affection in his oily words. My mind reeled—the Vaelanmavar, Molly’s uncle? It couldn’t be. It was too disgusting of an idea to contemplate, that she was related by blood to that snake of a Sidhe.

“Who is this…woman, standing just behind the Vaelanbrigh?” Her voice carried an aloof curiosity. I wished I could hear the old Molly again, even her sarcasm.

“She is merely a mortal,” the Vaelanmavar replied in a quiet voice, his words still carrying through the air for us to hear—which was clearly his intent. “Pay her no account, my dear niece. She means nothing to you, and carries no importance.”

My jaw clenched. I went to take a step forward, but suddenly Ramel was by my side, gripping my elbow, and Emery was at my other side, sliding his shoulder in front of me smoothly and blocking my path. I gritted my teeth but let them restrain me.

“You should watch your tongue,” Emery said coolly to the Vaelanmavar, “or your other eye might be in danger.”

I felt a rush of gratitude toward Emery as the Vaelanmavar’s face flushed, almost imperceptibly, at the reference to his eye.

“It seems as though your men have become impudent, Vaelanbrigh,” the mounted knight said.

“We say only what is true,” Emery responded as Finnead merely shrugged unconcernedly.

“Uncle, I feel as though I know her, though I acknowledge her inferiority as a mortal,” Molly said, each word enunciated delicately in that detached voice.

“That is because she is a witch,” the Vaelanmavar said as he dismounted. He walked forward and tossed the reins to Emery. “Take my mount to the stables.”

Emery raised one eyebrow coolly and led the black charger away, murmuring to it in the Sidhe tongue.

“Well, is she of account or isn’t she?” Ramel asked the Vaelanmavar, squeezing my elbow slightly. “Because I’ve heard tales of mortal witches and, to tell the truth, I wouldn’t want to tangle with one.”

A rather large group had gathered behind Finnead, and I heard their murmurings. I couldn’t tell if they were murmuring about me or the Vaelanmavar, and I shifted uncomfortably.

“Look at the girl squirm,” the Vaelanmavar said, smiling nastily, his one eye glittering with malice. “She knows that I speak truth, when I speak of her witchery.”

“I’ll show you witchery,” I growled.

“I wouldn’t test her,” Ramel said. “She threw Kavoryk, there, across the room, without just a twitch of her finger.”

Ramel’s mention of his name gave Kavoryk the chance to push his way through the crowd. He took up a stance in the space vacated by Emery, and the feel of his solid bulk by my side pushed away a little bit of the crawling fear still skittering up my spine every time the Vaelanmavar spoke. I felt phantom fingers close around my throat, but I raised my chin and looked at him challengingly.

“Mere trickery,” said the Vaelanmavar dismissively, “in which only a half-wit would put any stock.”

A ripple of murmurs swept through the assembled company again.

“Are you here, Vaelanmavar, to take charge of the company, or to debate the reputation of one of its members?” Finnead asked in a calm, strong voice.

“I am here to take charge of the company, Vaelanbrigh, and as the new captain, it is my duty to ensure the loyalty of every warrior here,” the Vaelanmavar replied.

Molly slid down from her mount. She wore a deep blue riding gown, slit up to the hips to reveal an underskirt of silver cloth, glimmering softly with her every move. The Vaelanmavar’s other knights dismounted and one took the reins of his fellows’ mounts.

“There are larger problems than your personal quarrels.” Finnead took a step toward the taller knight.

“Oh, it is not my personal quarrel,” the Vaelanmavar said silkily, a venomous smile on his lips. He raised one black-gloved hand and pointed at me. “You are harboring a traitor to the Queen herself!”

I heard his words with a sinking feeling. Kevoryk stood solidly by my side, and Ramel stepped forward a bit.

“Such an accusation is dangerous,” Finnead said softly.

Hands went to sword-hilts, and the air crackled with tension.

“The mortal left Darkhill at a time when travel was forbidden by the Queen,” the Vaelanmavar said. “She disobeyed explicit orders handed down from the Dark Throne, and as such is a traitor.”

I bristled. “I came out here because Mab was doing nothing to help the patrol, even when it had already been attacked!”

The Vaelanmavar spread his hands. “And so why am I here, girl? Why has the Queen sent the fendhionne to the company?”

“I don’t pretend to know what Mab is thinking,” I replied, despite Ramel’s warning glance, “but I am no traitor.”

“You are sealed to the Queen, and you disobeyed her orders,” the Vaelanmavar said clearly and slowly, as if talking to a dullard.

The silence around me was deafening. There were no more murmurs from the company.

“Do you think it is an accident that the Enemy’s trap was set just after she arrived in camp, and she is the only one who may escape it?” he demanded, appealing now to the warriors gathered around me. “Do you think it an accident that she hid the Glasidhe conspirators, when their self-styled queen knew of the Iron Sword’s location?”

My stomach dropped sickeningly, and before I had a chance to think I blurted, “What have you done to Lumina?”

The Vaelanmavar smiled, and I knew I had played into his hands. “The Small Ones’ exiled monarch kept the secret of the Sword’s resting-place admirably, almost unto death.”

I heard wordless cries of anger and outrage, and saw the Glasidhe—Wisp, Flora, Forsythe, Forin, Farin—circling the Vaelanmavar like small, blood-hungry hawks. I saw the glint of their small swords and I knew that they intended to attack the Vaelanmavar. I knew just as surely that one or all of them would be killed, crushed beneath the knight’s merciless boot.

“Don’t!” I called out to them. “Please!”

I couldn’t tell the difference between them, their auras were burning so brightly with fury. The Vaelanmavar watched them with one cold eye, smiling slightly. He drew one of his small daggers, and stood deathly still as they swooped down at him. One opened a cut on his cheek, another stabbed a small dagger into his arm and another swiped open the tender skin of his throat, but not deep enough to be any real danger. The Vaelanmavar snatched at one of them, his hand moving as quickly as a cobra strikes; and to my horror I saw Flora struggling between his thumb and forefinger. She stabbed into his hand with her dagger, baring her teeth in defiance.

With his cool face showing only the barest trace of malice, the Vaelanmavar pressed the tip of his dagger to Flora’s torso. Flora stopped struggling and lay limp with fear as the massive blade pinned her down, while the other Glasidhe prepared for another diving attack.

“Stop!” I shouted at him desperately, breaking free of Ramel’s restraining hand.

“These are traitors too, simply receiving their just punishment,” the Vaelanmavar replied. He applied more pressure and Flora gasped, her aura flickering.

“You are overstepping your bounds,” Finnead said, his own sword out now. “The Glasidhe have been friends to us.”

“Vaelanbrigh,” said the Vaelanmavar, looking down at Flora in his palm, “you seem to make no division between friends and traitors.”

Forsythe dove at the knight’s remaining eye, his sword held in both hands as he shouted a battle-cry for all to hear. The Vaelanmavar was forced to choose between killing Flora and saving his eye. He swiped with his dagger at Forsythe and I lunged forward, knocking his hand aside before he could close his fist around Flora to crush her. Flora skidded into the grass, raising a small cloud of dust, and dimly I heard a cry from Forsythe.

Forsythe’s aura flickered as he fell like a small shooting star. I saw the blue blood streaming from him, and the Vaelanmavar raised his boot to crush the Glasidhe. Still off balance from knocking his hand aside, I knew I wouldn’t be able to save Forsythe and I watched helplessly.

A black wolf barreled into the Vaelanmavar, snarling fiercely as he took the knight to the ground as if he were prey. Vell scooped up Forsythe tenderly, her golden eyes blazing defiance and hatred as she looked at the Vaelanmavar.

“Call off your familiar, North-witch,” hissed the Vaelanmavar from beneath Beryk.

“He’s his own wolf,” Vell replied, her voice hard.

I found Flora among a few broken stalks of grass. She seemed unharmed, though still shaken. I gently picked her up and stood, giving her to Vell. Flora fell upon Forsythe with a small cry, all her limpness gone as she began binding his wound.

“Take them and go,” I said to Vell in a low voice.

“Not without you,” she said.

“I’ll be fine. I promise. Go, please, before he kills you or them!”

Vell turned, Forsythe and Flora held gently against her chest in a cupped hand, and ran swift as a wolf into the darkness of the forest. Beryk snapped his jaws near the Vaelanmavar’s face, gave a yip of derisive amusement at the knight’s flinch, and then bolted after her.

Kavoryk stepped forward and drew me away from the Vaelanmavar. The knight stood and brushed himself off. He looked at me, his remaining eye burning with cold hatred. He sheathed his dagger. “Arrest her,” he ordered. The knights who had arrived with him stepped forward.

Ramel, Kavoryk and Donovan stepped in front of me protectively.

“She is no traitor,” I heard Finnead say.

“You are no longer commander here,” the Vaelanmavar snarled, “and you must follow my orders, or be branded a traitor along with your mortal whore!”

I heard the sharp report of flesh hitting flesh and I pushed Ramel aside. The Vaelanmavar wiped blood from his lip as two of his knights restrained Finnead, who had his fist drawn back for another punch. The silver hiss of swords drawn from their sheaths slid through the silence. Finnead lowered his fist, and stood very straight, allowing the Vaelanmavar’s men to restrain him.

The Vaelanmavar had his sword out, now, and so did his men. Molly stood behind him, gazing impassively at the scene before her. “Any who aid the Vaelanbrigh or the mortal will be branded as traitors as well,” the Vaelanmavar announced. “My words carry the power of the Queen, and any that doubt may look upon her royal seal.” He took out a ring from his belt-pouch. The stone on the ring glittered like a star, just like the jewel in the diadem I had seen Mab wear before the feast so long ago at Darkhill. One of the knights moved forward and grabbed my arm roughly. I saw Ramel raise his sword, his eyes blazing with that fearsome Fae-fire, and I shook my head desperately. I knew with a cold, sick certainty that the Vaelanmavar would take a certain pleasure in cutting down my friends and allies. I caught Ramel’s gaze and to my relief he lowered his blade, watching as the knight pulled me away from my protectors, face grim.

My captor wheeled me roughly, turning me to face Finnead and the Vaelanmavar. The two men holding Finnead tightened their grip on his arms as the Vaelanmavar slowly removed one of his black gloves. He handed the glove to Molly, who held it silently, still watching with that serene expression. I had a nauseating inkling of what was about to happen, and although I wanted to close my eyes, I forced myself to watch. I wouldn’t let them see my weakness.

The Vaelanmavar hit Finnead hard in the face. Finnead took the punch without a sound, reeling back and then righting himself, blue-black blood trickling from his nose. Donovan started forward, his normally calm eyes glittering with anger; and Ramel was just a step behind him.

“No,” Finnead said, looking at his companions as he blinked, trying to regain his bearings.

Ramel growled in wordless anger.

“You had best obey your former captain,” the Vaelanmavar said silkily, rubbing the knuckles of his bare hand. He struck Finnead again, still producing no sound from the other knight.

“Have you no honor?” Kavoryk asked in his grating, giant voice.

“You should ask that of the traitors,” the Vaelanmavar replied. He turned to one of his men and spoke in a low voice—giving instructions for our handling, I surmised.

Blood trickled down Finnead’s face. He took a few deep breaths and drew back his shoulders, his face devoid of any emotion.

“Go back to your posts,” the Vaelanmavar instructed.

The group of Sidhe standing about regarded him stonily. None moved. The Vaelanmavar turned and Molly handed him his glove. He pulled it on slowly, and clenched his black-clad hand into a fist.

“Molly,” I said in a strangled voice, still harboring a slim faith that somehow she would break whatever spell the Vaelanmavar had woven over her. She looked up at me, but her beautiful face remained smooth, untouched by emotion. “I know you don’t remember me,” I continued, twisting away from the knight who held me as he tried to silence me with one gloved hand. “But we were friends—we were more than friends, we were like sisters!”

A small furrow appeared upon Molly’s brow. A spark of hope flared in my chest.

“You were my roommate, we went to college together, and I was—I came with you, when you first went through the Gate!”

Molly tilted her head to one side.

“Silence her,” hissed the Vaelanmavar to the man holding my arms. He shifted his grip and got one hand over my mouth after a few attempts, with me wriggling in his grasp like an eel.

“Uncle,” Molly said in a slow, inquiring voice, taking a few steps closer to me. “Why does this mortal claim to know me?”

“She lies, like any mortal,” the Vaelanmavar replied without looking away from me, his one eye boring viciously into mine. I growled curses into the knight’s hand and struggled. “You have no kin,” he continued, turning to Molly with a smile that turned my stomach, “except for me.”

Molly looked at him for a long moment, and in one instant I thought I saw the old, familiar Molly surface in her eyes; but then she lowered her gaze demurely and nodded. “Yes, Uncle,” she replied. “I know.”

“Now,” the Vaelanmavar said, turning back to Finnead’s men, “as I have already ordered, you will all resume your duties, and await further orders.”

Finnead turned as much as his captors would allow, looking at Ramel. He gave one curt nod and Ramel said, “Back to post, everyone,” in a hard, steely voice. Ramel glared at the Vaelanmavar as the group slowly dispersed, the slow hiss of swords being sheathed the only accompaniment to the defiant silence. Ramel was the last to leave. He glanced at Finnead, then at me, his gaze conveying a stern resolution. I nodded to him, and he turned away, walking toward the barracks.

“It seems you have spread your poisonous thoughts throughout your company, Finnead,” the Vaelanmavar said.

“No more than you have corrupted your men, Carden,” Finnead replied.

Hearing the Vaelanmavar’s proper name elicited a strange feeling: half amusement, that his name sounded so ordinary, and half disgust, like peeling back the shell of a slug or seeing a snake shed its skin.

Carden—it was so harmless-sounding a name for such a sinister man—lunged forward, closing one huge gloved hand about Finnead’s throat. The man holding me tightened his grip as I reflexively tried to move forward, snarling in helpless anger.

“You will call me by my title, boy,” the Vaelanmavar hissed, tightening his grip on Finnead’s throat until the younger knight paled. The Vaelanmavar released him just as his eyes began to glass over. “Unlike you, I have earned it.”

Finnead, taking a huge gasping breath, chuckled softly at the Vaelanmavar’s insult.

“Take them away,” the Vaelanmavar snapped at his men. “I want a guard on them both at all times.”

Carden’s men erected a large tent at the edge of the clearing, near the first trees of the forest. They worked quickly, felling a few saplings and stripping them of their branches, using the sturdiest for the tent’s center-poles. They took Finnead’s daggers from him. When they tried to unbuckle his sword-belt, he growled, “None may touch the Bright Sword without the Queen’s blessing.”

The burly Sidhe hit him, and said, “You have fallen out of the Queen’s favor. You have no blessings.”

I saw the awful pain in Finnead’s eyes at the other man’s words. I hoped fervently that the Sidhe was lying, that Finnead hadn’t been stripped of his title and branded a traitor because of me. A small sound of pain escaped him as they took his sword from him, the only sound that he had made throughout all their abuse. They tied Finnead’s hands behind him, pulling the rope brutally tight.

“Your weapons, lady,” one of them said to me. He was tall, and slight, his dark curly hair unruly.

“At least you still have some courtesy left,” I snapped at him, noting with satisfaction the slightly wounded look in the man’s eyes as I unbuckled my sword-belt.

“Some of us are just following orders, lady,” he said quietly to me as he took my sword and my daggers.

“That’s no excuse,” I said tightly, my voice equally quiet and my eyes accusing as I stood empty-handed, watching him put my weapons in a pile at the side of the tent. He shook his head and disappeared around the back of the tent.

At first they left my hands unbound, and for a few moments I entertained a slim, bright hope. But when the tent was completed, they took me inside and sat me against one of the tent-poles, tying my hands behind the rough wood. I couldn’t see how they bound Finnead, but I had no doubt it was the cruelest way they could invent.

My stomach growled, reminding me painfully that I hadn’t had anything to eat since the rabbit Vell had roasted over the fire. They had bound me facing the back wall of the tent. After a few awkward attempts, I got my feet under me and slid my hands up the pole behind me, wincing as the rough wood scraped my palms. By the time I was standing, I was sure that my hands were bleeding, but I didn’t care. I shimmied around the pole so that I was facing the entrance.

They had forced Finnead to his knees, binding his ankles and his hands on the other side of the pole. He faced the tent entrance, and I saw the shadows of two guards through the cloth of the tent.

“Finnead,” I said, barely breathing life into the word. He raised his head slightly. “Are you all right?”

I heard him chuckle slightly.

“All right, maybe that was a stupid question,” I whispered. I saw one of the guards shift outside. I watched and waited, and when he settled down again, I whispered, “What the hell is going on?”

He shook his head wearily, as close a sign of defeat as I had ever seen from him.

“Why would Mab send Molly into a trap?”

“The Vaelanmavar has more to do with this than the Queen, I fear,” Finnead answered in a low voice, pressing his shoulder hard into the pole so he could lean his face back toward me.

I tested the strength of the knots binding my hands, making the pole creak.

“What are we going to do?” I breathed.

“You will escape,” Finnead replied.

“What do you mean, I will escape?”

The guards outside shifted. I knew I was pushing my luck.

“Even if I escape these bonds, I can’t cross the circle,” Finnead explained. “I’m trapped here either way.”

My heart sank as I realized the truth in his words. I sank down against the pole, swearing softly as the bark rubbed my already-bleeding hands. A hopeless anger welled up within me, and I clenched my fists as tightly as the ropes allowed. “I can’t believe that Mab allowed that…that snake to come out here and do this,” I growled, no longer caring if the guards heard me.

“Without the Sword, the Court will fall to Malravenar,” Finnead replied. “The Vaelanmavar has proven that he’ll do anything to get the Sword.”

“Like torture innocents,” I said. The mere thought of the kind, gentle Glasidhe princess in the hands of the Vaelanmavar made me tremble with anger. My skin rippled with goose-bumps.

“Like torture innocents,” Finnead agreed grimly. He rested his dark head against the tent-pole. “There is a dark side, especially to the Unseelie Court, Tess. There has always been dissenters, who favor the old ways.”

I didn’t feel like talking—I wanted to break the tent-pole over the Vaelanmavar’s head, and then kick him in his family jewels for good measure. But Finnead’s words sparked my curiosity. “What old ways?”

Finnead shook his head. “It was before even my time. Back in the young days of the world when everything was wild and fresh. The Unseelie Court garnered a reputation for indulging in the crueler side of pleasure, especially when it came to dealing with mortals. When Mab came to power, she introduced much more…civilized past-times.”

“In all our legends, the Unseelie Court is portrayed as rather cruel.”

Finnead nodded. “That’s not by accident. Titania ran a rather admirable propaganda campaign at about the time of Elizabeth. She managed to insinuate herself into the affections of a certain playwright, even, and he wrote her into one of his plays.”

“Propaganda,” I murmured. “Interesting.”

One of the guards shoved the tent-flap aside. “It’s our orders to make sure you’re silent,” he said, “and we can ignore a bit of whispering—” he gave me a significant look—“but at least keep it so that the bastard can’t hear you at the other side of camp!”

I nodded. Then the guard did something I didn’t understand—he touched two fingers to his brow and said, “To the true Bearer,” in a soft, quick voice before disappearing again. Finnead stiffened, his head coming up from where it had rested against the tent-pole.

“What did he just say?” I whispered softly. “I don’t understand, Finnead.”

“I wish I didn’t understand,” he murmured.

“Please, tell me.”

But he shook his head and fell silent. I sighed in frustration and tried to find a more comfortable position. In the end I drew my knees up and leaned back against the pole, ignoring its warning creaks. Slowly the anger and frustration seeped out of my body, leaving me cold and tired.

“Ramel and Kavoryk won’t leave me here,” I murmured, mostly to myself, my head lolling wearily against the pole.

Then a long, blood-curdling howl rose in the silence, filling the stale air in the tent. It sounded like a wolf, but…wrong. More sinister. I knew in my bones that it was a garrelnost. My body tightened with instinctive fear as a second howl, and then a third, and a fourth, joined the first. “There’s a pack of them,” I whispered.

“They’ll attack tonight,” Finnead said. I saw him pull in anger at the ropes binding him, and he cursed softly under his breath.

The blood-curdling chorus of shrieking howls continued, rising in pitch and volume. I wanted to cover my ears with my hands, but I settled for softly humming any song that came to my mind, filling my mind with the imaginary accompaniment rather than let the enemy’s scare tactics paralyze me with fear.

A different guard came in, and from the slant of light that fell through the tent-flap when he entered I realized it was late afternoon. The hours had blended seamlessly with frustration and anger, merging with fear at the terrible sounds filling the forest just outside the tent.

“Are you going to leave us here, with them just outside?” I asked as the guard silently placed a hunk of bread and a few strips of dried meat in front of me and untied my hands.

“I would eat that quickly,” the guard said in reply.

I noticed he didn’t have another portion of food. “Do you intend to starve the Vaelanbrigh, then?” I asked coolly, rubbing my chafed wrists.

The guard wouldn’t look at me.

“Don’t worry about me, Tess,” Finnead said.

“Of course I’m going to worry about you,” I said in irritation, standing and stretching with the food in one hand. “Am I allowed to walk around a little?” I asked the guard, who shrugged unhappily. I took that as a yes, and I walked over to Finnead, wincing at the painful stiffness in my knees and ankles.

“You look terrible,” I said as I saw his face.

“Thanks,” he said wryly, looking up at me through his black eye and smiling, his lips stained with dried blood.

“Give me your canteen,” I said to the guard, and though he bridled a little, he handed it to me. I unscrewed the top and dampened the edge of my sleeve, pulling the cloth over my palm. When he realized my intention, Finnead stiffened and half-turned his face away. “Let me,” I said softly. “Does it really cost you that much to let someone help you?”

He took a breath and looked at me, and after a moment something gave out in his blue eyes. He nodded slightly and closed his eyes as I gently washed the blood from his face.

“Enough with the tender moment,” the guard said sullenly.

“You don’t have to watch,” I retorted, glaring at him hotly, and he looked away. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” I asked Finnead. He shook his head, and I decided not to push my luck. I walked back to my pole and sat down, eating the bread and meat quickly, washing it down with water from the guard’s canteen. “Don’t worry, I don’t backwash,” I said to the guard, who only looked at me in irritation. I smiled sweetly as I handed back the canteen. He took it, hooking it back on his belt distastefully.

I held out my hands, pressing them together at the wrists.

“All right, officer,” I sighed, “cuff me.”

He gave me a strange look, clearly confused by my reference, but he positioned my hands behind the pole and picked up the rope.

“Your job is so difficult,” I said as he wrapped my hands. “Tying up poor, defenseless mortal girls….it must be so taxing.”

The guard finished tying my hands quickly and left without so much as a backward glance, plainly eager to take up his post outside again.

“You shouldn’t antagonize them so,” Finnead said.

“I’ll antagonize whomever I please,” I replied. “And it’s not like it was pointless.” I tested the knot on the rope tying my hands together. I grinned when it gave a little. It wasn’t as though he’d left me untied, but my irritating banter had gained me a bit of precious slack in the rope.

I took a deep breath as more sounds joined the garrelnost howls, creating a cacophony of spine-tingling hisses and shrieks and snarls. “How many of them are there?” I whispered, wriggling my wrists against the rope.

“Enough,” Finnead replied.

I wondered if a spark of taebramh could bite through the rope, and I shook my head, that I hadn’t thought of it earlier. But when I reached for the well of white fire beneath my breastbone, I couldn’t touch it. I saw it clearly in my mind’s eye, burning like a miniature star in my chest, but it was encapsulated beneath a dark film of fear, a membrane woven of doubt and apprehension. “Well, then,” I said to myself, fighting down a small swell of panic, “that won’t work.” I gritted my teeth and kept turning my wrists against the rope, reaching blindly with my fingers until I got the knot in my grip. Outside, the afternoon light faded, fueling my industrious work. I bit my lip in concentration.

“ Finnead, I think I can get this knot,” I whispered triumphantly after a good stretch of strained silence. My lower lip was sore.

He straightened and leaned his shoulder back as far as he could, turning his head so he could look at me out of the corner of his eye. “If you can get free,” he said quietly, “untie me. I will distract them.”

I remembered that the old Vaelanbrigh had died so that Finnead could escape his captors, all those years ago. I hoped fervently that Finnead wouldn’t have to give his life—the thought made me sick—and that I wouldn’t be recaptured. I swallowed and nodded. “When?”

“Whenever you are ready,” he replied.

The deepening shadows draped over the tent. I worked the knot furiously, taking a break when the muscles in my palm and wrist seized up. When the spasm passed, I went back to work, scowling in concentration. And then, suddenly, the rope fell away. “Got it,” I whispered.

I watched the silhouettes of the guards outside as I crept forward breathlessly. I froze and held my breath when one of them stood; but he was just stretching his legs. The dull murmur of their conversation, uninterrupted and unworried, reassured me. I slunk forward and started on the knot keeping Finnead’s ankles tied to the pole. The knot was tight. I worked at it furiously. My fingertips began to bleed, smearing red onto the rope, and I wished that they hadn’t taken my daggers. Finally I loosened the knot enough to untie it.

I couldn’t help the small sound of indignation that escaped me when I turned my attention to the rope binding Finnead’s hands. A fine strand of dark, dull metal ran through the rope that bound his hands. “Is that…is that iron?” I breathed.

“No matter,” replied Finnead, shaking his head.

I waited until my hands stopped trembling before I began working on that knot, letting out a small hiss of sympathy at the horrible charred burns around the knight’s wrists. It explained his weariness, and his silence.

“The bastards,” I growled softly, trying not to hurt Finnead any more than absolutely necessary.

The knot was loose, and almost ready to be untied, when one of the guards swept aside the tent-flap. I froze, but Finnead pulled at the rope with a grunt of pain, and I untied the knot with one last quick movement. The guard shouted as Finnead leapt at him.

“Go!” Finnead shouted.

I jumped past the two struggling men, bursting out into the deepening dusk, looking about wildly for our weapons. The other guard turned in surprise and I saw it was the unruly-haired young Sidhe from earlier in the day. I sent him a silent apology as I hit him solidly square on the jaw with the power-hand punch that I had perfected in sophomore boxing class. He staggered and I cursed, hitting him again. He fell to the ground. I stumbled over to the pile of weapons and sorted through them quickly. I paused as my hands touched the sheath of the Brighbranr, a spark of foreign power biting my palm. But then a muffled shout from the first guard spurred me into action. I grabbed my sword belt and one of the daggers, clutching the sheaths in my hand as I turned.

A low mist covered the practice field. There were no fires tonight. The guard’s shout had alerted the sentries, and I saw one train his bow upon me as I ran along the edge of camp, my heart pounding in my ears. But no arrow slammed into me, and I sprinted through the long grass, aiming for the intersection of the path and the forest. My sword slipped in my hand and I stumbled, falling heavily on one knee and skidding before gathering myself, throwing my body into a headlong rush as more shouts rose behind me.

I should have tried to free Kaleth, I realized in despair as I thought of the Sidhe’s inhuman speed. There was no way I could outrun them—my breath was already coming harshly, despite my runner’s pedigree. So even though every instinct screamed at me to stay in the open, I swerved into the forest, cutting a sharp angle into the trees. Panting, I stopped behind a thick tree and buckled on my sword-belt with shaking hands, sweat sliding down my back despite the coolness of the air. I slid the dagger into my boot-top sheath.

I ran for a little while more, angling deeper into the woods while still aiming toward the path—or at least where I figured the path to be. The deepening shadows licked at my feet, fawning against my calves as the inhuman sounds of Malravenar’s forces increased in volume, sending ripples of goose-bumps over my skin. Sweating and panting, I finally stopped and took stock of my surroundings, every ounce of hearing attuned to the sounds around me. The cries and howls and shrieks were uncomfortably close. My nerves vibrated with fear, and I couldn’t suppress the memory of the garrelnost’s hideous gaping maw, the ropes of saliva sliding down its huge teeth, its mottled tongue and fetid breath.

I didn’t know how long I would have to travel in the forest until I reached open land again, and I knew I stood no chance at outrunning any creature that happened upon me. I had little idea of the location of the iron barrier enclosing the battlefield, so I couldn’t count on that for safety. In the fading light, I found a tree with a sturdy branch that curved out of the trunk a good arm’s length above my head. I gathered myself and jumped, wincing as the bark of the tree scratched the tender spots on my wrists. Gripping the branch with both hands, I walked my feet up the trunk, shifting my grip one painful handhold at a time until I could swing a leg over the branch. I hoisted my body up so that I was laying face-down on the branch, and I rested for a moment, eyes closed. Then I carefully rose into a crouch and climbed as high as I dared into the tree’s shielding branches. Only when I was securely wedged in the crook of two high branches did I allow myself to think about my escape. I leaned back against the tree and let myself shake, giving in to the tears of exhaustion pricking at the corners of my eyes. I had escaped the Vaelanmavar’s clutches, only to run into the dangerous, enemy-infested forest. I listened to the terrible cries of Malravenar’s army, and hoped I could survive the night.

Chapter 30

Full dark fell over the forest. Sleep was out of the question, even though I was more tired than I’d ever been in my life, exhausted emotionally and physically from the events of the harrowing day. I hoped fervently that Finnead didn’t suffer because of my escape, even though he’d made it clear he was willing to sacrifice himself for my freedom. I leaned my head back against the rough bark, wrapping my fingers around the cool, smooth circle of Gwyneth’s pendant.

I needed to get to the river-tree, that much I knew. But I was on foot, without any help, wanted for treason by Mab and an easy target for Malravenar’s forces as well. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. I shifted on my branch, keeping one leg stretched on the tree-limb and dropping the other leg to one side of the branch to keep my balance. My sword hung down from my belt on the other side.

I half-closed my eyes, unwilling to shut them completely despite the fact that I could barely see my hand in front of my face in the pitch-black of the night. I’d never slept in a tree before and it was too long of a fall to the ground if I did lose my balance. The chorus of howls and shrieks had died down into near-silence just after I’d climbed up into the tree. Suddenly, back in the direction of the barracks, an ear-splitting shriek tore through the air. I crossed my arms over my chest and pressed myself back into the tree-niche, aching with pure loneliness and fear. The shriek wasn’t a garrelnost—it sounded like some kind of hawk-like creature. And soon after, I heard terrible sweeping wing-beats above my head.

I froze, curling into myself and trying not to breathe, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to press down the fear choking me. The huge flying creature—by the sound of its wing-beats, it was far larger than any bird I’d ever seen—passed once, twice over the top of my tree. The third time it flew so close that the downdraft from its wings rattled the leaves. I clenched my jaw, listening harder than I’d ever listened in the pitch blackness of the night forest, willing the creature to go away, to leave me undiscovered in my tree. I thought about climbing down, but surely my clambering noise would alert it to my presence. I crept my hand toward my boot-sheath, realizing at the same time that a dagger would probably be useless against such a huge creature.

For a desperate hopeful moment, I thought it had winged off, back in the direction of camp. Then that heart-stopping shriek ripped apart the air just above my head and the creature crashed into the tree, its thrashing wings and grasping claws tearing through the branches just above me.

“Shit,” I spat, hesitated for a moment with my hand on my dagger-hilt, and then the creature slammed into the tree again, making the entire trunk of the sturdy oak groan. The creature bellowed its cry and a wave of fetid carrion-stench made me gag as I slid down off the opposite side of the branch, clinging with my arms as I blindly searched with my feet for the next branch. Wood splintered. The creature tore branches off the oak, flinging them away into the night. I heard them crashing onto the forest floor.

I found the next branch, dropped down onto it, my heart pounding in my throat. A piece of wood hit my cheek. The side of my face went instantly numb and I gasped a little as warm liquid spilled down my face. It was blood, and I knew it was blood, but I grabbed the branch and swung myself down, pointing my toes in search of the next branch. The creature didn’t shriek—it was industriously silent, the cracking and splintering of wood substitute for its terrifying cry. Panting, trying to ignore the left side of my face, I lowered myself onto the next branch, then the next, as quickly as I could, slipping down through the branches one after another.

A hideous black claw gouged the tree trunk above my head, gripping the branch just above me and ripping it away. The creature screamed in triumph, setting off ringing in my ears. Every hair on my body stood straight up, alerted to the vicious danger just above me. I swung down to the next branch, and then—nothing. I hadn’t climbed the same route that I had taken on the way to my refuge. I took a hitching breath—I couldn’t see the distance to the ground—but then the claws reached for me and I slid off the branch into the open air.

I fell long enough for a stream of curses to course through my mind, lightning-fast, and then I hit the ground. I hit feet-first and then tried to roll; my sword got caught in my legs and I ended up in an undignified tangle of limbs, breathless with pain. But I scrambled to my feet as the creature screamed, and I ran. One of my ankles tried to give out, a little starburst of pain radiating from the tender tendons, but I shook my head and ran, panting from the climb down the tree and the terror of that black misshapen creature. The thought of its claws digging into my arm, ripping off one of my legs just as it had demolished the oak tree, galvanized me, pushing me to run faster.

I ran until my legs began to shake and a knife-stabbing side-stitch split my side. I must have cut a deeper angle into the forest then I’d thought—or Kaleth had covered more ground than I had estimated, because the forest head was still thick with trees. I strained my eyes in the darkness, and still couldn’t catch a glimpse of any open ground, much less the path.

“Well, trees are out,” I muttered to myself, trying to catch my breath. Just for my own comfort, I took out my dagger. As I walked, the throbbing in my ankle receded to a dull ache, and I started to worry about the numbness on the side of my face. When I reached up to touch the cut—I knew it had to be a cut, since it was wood that had hit me—my hand started to shake and I changed my mind. I would take care of it in the morning, or when I was out of the forest, whichever came first. Never mind that crimson stained the collar of my shirt, and I could still feel it dripping down my chin. I blinked a few times and covered my right eye with my hand, breathing a sigh of relief when I ascertained that my left eye was unharmed and fully functional.

The shriek of the winged creature sliced through the night again, from back in the direction of the barracks. A garrelnost howled in answer, and then the creatures raised such a chaotic chorus of terrifying sounds that I shivered, even far away. I walked a little faster, gripping my dagger tightly, its silver glimmer my only reassurance against the unknown darkness.

I stopped to rest, shivering. I leaned against the trunk of a tree, closing my eyes, feeling the slide of blood down my face. I wanted so badly to sit down and just…rest, for a while. Lying down sounded even better. The sounds of Malravenar’s misshapen creatures were far enough away to fade into the background. I felt myself sliding down the trunk of the tree until I was sitting. My feet ached. My ankle throbbed. I still couldn’t feel my face.

“Tess,” said Gwyneth.

I knew it was her, before I opened my eyes. There was something in her voice that reminded me of the way my mother’s voice had sounded in early childhood memories, before my father died.

“Yes?” I murmured.

“Go to sleep,” Gwyneth told me. “And come Walk with me.”

Some small part of me remembered the garrelnosts, the terrible winged creature, and the shadow-servants that were all roaming the woods. I resisted sleep, despite its enticing call.

“Trust me,” Gwyneth said.

“All right,” I whispered, and I let go of the waking world.

My well of taebramh was no longer covered with the impermeable film of fear, but it was still difficult to draw a thread out of it. I siphoned off enough to propel myself out of my sleeping body. The pain faded as I stood up out of myself. I held out one arm: my spectral form glowed faintly, looking convincingly solid in the darkness. I began to turn, to look at my solid self.

“I do not think that would be a particularly wise decision,” Gwyneth said.

I looked forward with a jolt, realizing that Gwyneth herself—or at least, her Walking form—stood an arm’s reach away from me. She was wearing dark close-fitting breeches and a white shirt, just as she had been wearing when the pendant had shown her to me. The same silver glittered at her wrists and throat and ears, intricately wrought charms hanging from fine silver chains. With a spark of surprise, I saw that she wore my pendant at her throat—except a miniature sword glowed in the center of her pendant, pulsing with the blue fire I had seen flowing down her blade in my vision.

“Is it that bad?” I asked, motioning back toward my body.

“It is not pleasant,” she replied, “and you have not been in battle yet, young one. You have not seen the suffering and the blood.” Her words lilted, heavily accented with an Irish brogue. Then she stepped forward and embraced me, feeling very solid and very real. When she drew back, she put one hand on either side of my face. She was a bit taller than me, but not by much; her gaze was level with mine. I could see a bit of myself in her face—not in the fierce otherworldly beauty, but simple things, like the curve of her nose and her dark eyebrows. She wore her thick golden hair in an intricate braid, pinned like a crown about her head. “It is good to see you, daughter of my heart,” she said.

“I don’t understand. How are you here?” I asked softly. “I thought you were…”

She tilted her head, a spark of mischief entering her wise eyes. “You do not believe in ghosts, Tess?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it all that much. But I suppose it’s not a stretch, considering everything I’ve been through in the past couple of months.”

Gwyneth smiled. “I knew the blood would come to the right one.” She opened her belt-pouch and took out four polished dark stones. “Wait for just a moment.”

Without directly looking at myself, although I did get the brief impression of slick blood and a hideous gash on the side of my face, I watched Gwyneth as she placed the stones upon the ground in a deliberate, precise pattern. One stone represented each point of the compass, forming a diamond around the tree and my unconscious form. She spoke a soft rippling word under her breath, and the stones glowed briefly with blue light. After a moment, the blue light faded, leaving the stones gleaming softly in the slight moonlight.

“There,” Gwyneth said in satisfaction. She turned back to me and scowled when she saw me watching. “Didn’t I tell you not to look, my galya?”

“I didn’t look at myself. I wanted to see…what you were doing,” I finished lamely.

“You could have asked,” Gwyneth said with the tone of a mother in her voice. “And I would have gladly explained. A spell-stone at each point of the compass, and a touch of the fire, will keep out most dark beings. Your body will be safe, while we Walk.”

“Shouldn’t I be getting to the river-tree as fast as I can?” I protested as Gwyneth took my arm and guided me away from my body.

“If you are to be the Bearer,” my ancestress replied, “you must first understand that you do no one any good at all if you don’t take care of yourself.” She held up a finger against my reply. “No. It is not an opinion, or an arguing point, my galya. You must make sure you are strong enough to wield the Sword. Only in dire need do you go into battle less than full strength.”

“It seems like dire need back at the barracks, or it will be when Malravenar attacks,” I pointed out as we glided through the forest.

Gwyneth’s silence and the chorus of horrible cries rising from the forest in the direction of the barracks told me all I needed to know. My blood ran cold as I thought of Ramel, Emery, Donovan....and even those I knew only for fleeting moments, like Eamon and the guard who had lent me his whetting-stone, Moryn.

“I need to help them,” I said desperately. “They’re trapped in the iron circle, and they’re surrounded.”

“They are Sidhe fighters,” replied Gwyneth crisply, “and they will be able to handle themselves for a good while without your help.”

I noticed that Gwyneth was wearing the sheath of the Iron Sword on her back, the battered black leather sheath completely incongruous with the buzz of pure power emanating from the sword within it. We came to a small clearing in the forest and Gwyneth stopped. She turned to me.

“Tess,” she said, “this night is a turning point. There are certain days, certain hours, that define past and present and future. This day, and the coming hours, will define the future of Faeortalam.” She took my hands and pressed them between her own. I felt the sword-calluses on her palms, rough against my own skin. “And, daughter of my heart, you stand at this crossroads. The path you choose will determine whether Faeortalam falls under shadow, and our own world slowly loses its dreams and its beauty.”

A heavy stillness settled over me as I listened. I nodded and waited for her to continue.

“I am able to speak to you here because you are the daughter of my soul—my blood runs as strong in you as it did in my own daughter, in the child of my flesh.” Her vivid green eyes bored into me. “And you stand here, at the edge of the cliff, at the crucial hour.”

I swallowed. “I don’t see what choice I have, Gwyneth.”

She smiled slightly. “I know why you say that. But there is always a choice, Tess.” Gently letting go of my hands, she stepped back and in one smooth entrancing motion she reached over her shoulder and drew the Iron Sword from its sheath.

The Sword looked like any other blade, its hilt wrapped in worn black leather, an emerald in the pommel. But a wave of power swept out from the weapon as Gwyneth drew it out of its sheath, knocking me breathless. A fierce hot longing consumed me, burning in every ounce of my being as I stared at the Sword. I realized I had taken an involuntary step toward it, as though I had been tugged closer by an invisible wire.

“It calls to you,” Gwyneth said softly. “But it is your choice to heed the calling. You may choose to go back, and let this burden pass from you.”

“Go back? To where?” I stared at her.

“To your home. To your brother, and your mother, and the mortal world.”

I blinked, stunned. “That’s not possible. I would need to go through one of the Gates.”

“The Gates are only one way to travel between the worlds, Tess,” Gwyneth replied. “The Ancient charged me to lay this choice before you.” She looked away, and my eyes were drawn to her face, despite the siren-call of the ghostly Iron Sword. “The Sword is a great burden, Tess. Being Bearer is an honor unmatched by any other, but it carries a price of pain and suffering, and perhaps even death.”

I could see the heaviness in her green eyes, and I wondered what Gwyneth had suffered while she bore the Sword. The gravity of her statement frightened me. But I took a breath and shook my head. “I won’t walk away just because I might suffer, Gwyneth. I can’t turn my back on Ramel, and Molly, and Finnead.”

Gwyneth nodded. “Loyalty has always run strong in our line.” She smiled slightly. “I did not expect you to choose differently, but some small part of me wished to spare you the trials of bearing the Sword.” She lifted the Sword and launched into a series of lightning-fast strokes, making the blade sing through the air. With each pass, a ripple of power hit me, as though the Sword was creating waves in water. Gwyneth stopped, just as suddenly as she had sprung into motion. “The second lesson of being Bearer,” she said in her thick accent, “is that the idea of the Sword is often enough to suit your purpose. Only an enemy strong enough to counter the power of the Sword—and there are not many—or an enemy stupid enough to underestimate the Bearer will come against you, once it is known you wield the Blade of Greatest Power.”

I shivered as Gwyneth gave the Sword a name I had never heard, impressing its importance into my mind. “How is it that you have it now?” I asked curiously, the question popping into my mind suddenly.

“The story of its loss is not yours to hear, nor exactly mine to tell,” Gwyneth replied enigmatically. “But suffice it to say that I am coming to you from a time in which I am still Bearer. It is my curse and my blessing to know my future. It is a blessing especially to come to you, though, my young galya.” She smiled. “It makes my spirit glad to gaze upon your face, and help you in what little way I can.”

I pulled the pendant out from beneath my shirt. “You’ve already helped me so much, just with this.”

“Ah, I am glad it came to you. I think the Ancient had a hand in the Sidhe who found it,” she said contemplatively. “And that is older than I, as well, so treat it well.”

As I tucked the pendant back beneath my shirt-collar, I nodded. Gwyneth swung the spectral Sword up, resting the blade on her flattened left palm, holding the blade parallel to the ground.

“Now for your anointing, my child,” she said, and blue fire flowed down the blade. “Place your hands upon the blade.”

I stepped closer. The raw power vibrating through the air made my teeth hurt. I wondered in amazement what the real Sword would feel like, if this was a dream-form from hundreds of years ago. I held my hands out and hesitated; then I steeled myself and plunged them into the blue fire, touching the blade above Gwyneth’s grip. The blue fire—Gwyneth’s taebramh, I knew suddenly—flowed up my arms and into my chest, mixing with my own white fire, forming a silvery sheen that flared up through my throat, bursting out my mouth like a plume of fire. I was breathless, suspended in the moment. It didn’t hurt, this new fire, but it was more intense than just my own, and the Sword beneath my hands ignited that fierce longing, planting a seed of want so intense that it throbbed with every beat of my heart.

“Blood of my blood, soul of my soul, I seal you to the Blade of Fire, to the Great Weapon forged in the fire of a star at the birth of the world. I marry you to the Blade of Greatest Power, a mortal shield-maiden of the Ancient,” Gwyneth intoned, her voice becoming many-toned, imbued with a power far greater than her own. She spoke in a different language, an ancient language, yet I understood every word, as if the meaning had been written into my heart. “Walk with the blessing of all Powers, heeding the will of the Ancient. Go with love, and carry always peace in your heart.”

With every word she spoke, the silver fire within me expanded, until my bones ached with the power of it. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move—but I had no desire to pull away. It felt perfectly right, perfectly painful. After her last words, the power left Gwyneth’s voice, and the blue fire gradually faded. I gasped as the fire within me receded, releasing its grip enough for me to draw in breath.

“Ancient willing, you shall pass on the Sword to the next Bearer in the flesh,” Gwyneth said, smiling gently at me. She looked down at our hands, clasped on either side of the blade. “Now, daughter of my heart, it is time for you to awaken. Come.” She sheathed the Sword. It no longer reached out to me with its siren-call; instead, I looked at the sheath and knew deep within myself that the Sword was mine to wield.

“I wish I could teach you more,” Gwyneth said as we traveled back toward we had left my body. “But my time runs short. Even with the blessing of the Ancient, a Walk across four centuries is tiring.”

“I can believe that,” I said.

“The spell-stones will not have healed you,” continued the priestess as neared the tree against which my physical body rested. “But the flow of blood should be staunched, and you will find some strength from your short rest.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully.

“It is the least I can do.” The slight glow about Gwyneth’s form was fading, and she picked up her pace, striding quickly through the pitch-dark forest with sure steps. “Quickly, now. Remember, the idea of the Sword is often weapon enough. And bend it to your will—sometimes it needs a firm hand, but you are its mistress, no matter how new.”

We reached my sleeping body. Gwyneth embraced me fiercely. She felt less solid, and her voice was soft as she said into my ear, “Go with love, Tess, and remember who you are.”

Gwyneth stepped back and called up a small blue spark, blowing it like a kiss toward me. It flew like a firefly and settled on the tip of my nose. Gwyneth smiled at me, her image wavering, and then I opened my eyes. She was gone, and my body was heavy.

I blinked a few times and groaned, trying to reconcile myself to the feel of my unwieldy physical body. My head hurt, but I wasn’t exhausted anymore. I stood stiffly, and noticed the spell-stones gleaming in the slight light of the moon. I picked up all four, walking in a slow circle around the tree, and examined them in my cupped hands. They radiated a slight warmth, and I slipped them into my pocket, pointing my feet in the direction of the river-tree.

Chapter 31

Though Gwyneth’s spell had opened some small reserve of strength within me, I found my legs heavy as I tried to find the path, cutting back toward where I thought it to be. Swelling on my left cheekbone began to force my eye shut, rendering me even more sightless in the dark of the night. For half a moment, I considered creating a small torch, lighting it with my taebramh; but I knew it would be a beacon for creatures like the monstrous winged beast that had torn through the oak tree, snapping branches as thick as my waist like twigs. The left side of my face felt heavy. I still couldn’t muster the courage to touch the wound. The idea of it made me feel sick, so I pushed thoughts of my injury to the back of my mind. Never mind the sticky, congealed blood crusting my cheek and chin; never mind the fact that hideously swollen flesh pushed my eye half-closed.

I slipped one hand into my pocket, feeling the smoothness of the spell-stones, still radiating warmth even after Gwyneth had departed. Distantly, back in the direction of the barracks, I heard faint clashing and ringing—blade upon blade, battle cries and shrieks from the creatures. The knowledge that Malravenar’s forces had attacked spurred me to walk faster, even though I stumbled over unseen roots and once fell, skinning my hands as I broke my fall.

The slight wind whispered through the trees. For a moment I thought I heard words in the sibilant hiss of the fluttering leaves, but I kept moving. I had to get to the river-tree.

After a while I realized that the reason I was stumbling over so many obstacles on the ground was not only the darkness, but my now-useless left eye. I cursed in frustration as I tripped again, my depth perception robbed from me. Then I caught a hint of movement on my left side, my blind side. My heart jumping as my mind sketched hideous creatures from the shadows, I drew my sword and slowly backed myself against a tree-trunk, turning my head to survey my blind left side as best I could. The slinking movement resolved into a creature with black-fur—I thought it looked like a wolf but it moved too quickly for me to tell, flowing through the shadows like a ribbon of black silk. My sword-hand started to shake, try as I might to steady it.

The creature came at me and I swung with my sword, the blade biting uselessly into the loam of the forest floor as it dodged aside with uncanny grace. I heard a familiar yip, and I paused in my desperate efforts to free my sword from the dirt. Slowly turning my head to the side, I saw that the shadow-creature was in fact a very large, very familiar black wolf. My knees went weak with relief.

“Beryk, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” I said breathlessly.

The wolf gave a snort. I couldn’t tell whether he meant to say that he wasn’t sorry, or that I wasn’t that hard to frighten, or both. In either case, I pulled my blade free and wiped it clean on my trousers before sliding it back into its sheath.

“I have to say, though,” I continued to the wolf, “I’m glad to see you.”

Beryk wagged his tail a few times and grinned, his tongue lolling out over his teeth. Then he whined deep in his throat, pawing the ground.

“Not really in the mood for charades right now.” I winced as a fresh trickle of blood dripped onto my shirt from my cheek. I turned my head, showing Beryk the left side of my face. I heard him whine again, and then he licked my hand. “It’s really that bad, huh,” I murmured. “Well, let’s go, then.”

I started walking again. Beryk trotted beside me, on my left side. After a few minutes, he drew closer and pressed his warm head beneath my hand. I was too tired to feel surprised, and it was good to have his solid bulk beneath my hand when I stumbled. He patiently waited for me to regain my balance each time.

After what seemed like an eternity, we had not reached the path. I wanted to weep in frustration, but I was sure that any sort of tears would be a very painful experience considering my left eye, so I pressed down the emotions. I tripped again and fell heavily to one knee, gripping Beryk’s fur reflexively.

“Sorry,” I gasped, releasing my tight hold on his ruff. He nudged at me with his nose, and delicately took the edge of my sleeve in his teeth, tugging me toward him. I looked at him and he knelt, looking at his own back and then at me, expectantly. I frowned. He gave a little bark of impatience, tugging at my sleeve again. “Okay, okay,” I said, extracting the cloth from his teeth. “I just…are you sure that I’m not too heavy?”

He grinned at me, laughter in his honey-gold eyes.

“I swear to God I’m hallucinating,” I muttered to myself. “I think a wolf is laughing at me.”

A few small barks erupted from the wolf, sounding for all the world like a chuckle. I looked sharply at him and he yawned innocently, still kneeling, waiting for me. He was a very large wolf—his head came up almost to my waist, even when he was kneeling on his forelegs. I wondered disjointedly if he had grown since the last time I’d seen him.

I slid onto Beryk’s back, laying more than sitting, gripping the fur at the looser skin of his neck. He stood, bearing my weight as if I weighed nothing at all; he glanced back at me, as if to make sure I was ready. Then he surged forward through the forest. His galloping gait was not smooth, like Kaleth’s; and I could feel every muscle, every bone along his spine beneath me as he shot through the forest like a fleeting shadow. I held on tightly, gripping with my hands and my knees, pressing my unmarred cheek into the fur of his neck and breathing in his musky wolf-scent. Riding wolf-back was nothing at all like riding horse-back—it was wilder, and more frightening: the racing ground was so close I could touch it if I wanted. Occasionally I felt Beryk gather himself, muscles coiling tightly, and I held on for dear life as he leapt over a fallen log or a small stream. Riding a wolf was like riding the wind, untamed and unapologetically rough.

Just as I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer, Beryk slowed, and a fresh breeze brushed my hair. I lifted my face from his neck, a wave of pure gratitude washing over me as I took in the flat land, the long grasses silvery in the moonlight. The path cut its way through the moon-brushed expanse just to our left. Mists obscured the horizon, layering misty tendrils over the hills, weaving through the grasses, but I felt in my bones the closeness of the Sword. Beryk loped through the long grasses, disdaining the path but keeping it within sight. We cut into the mist, moving like ghosts; and I wondered what a watcher would see—a wolf-girl, like a centaur but more fearsome? I smiled slightly at the absurd thought. Keeping the arch of my foot hooked over Beryk’s back for balance, I sat up a little as he covered the ground in his tireless wolf-lope.

Two bright little lights appeared through the darkness, wrapped in the mist. I blinked, thinking them a hallucination or a half-dream fostered by my exhaustion. But Beryk barked, making me jump, and the lights zipped toward me.

“Tess!” exclaimed Flora, her aura bursting with violet and blue and pink hues of joy. Wisp flew right behind her.

“The Northerner is waiting for you,” he said. “By the river-tree. By the great secret-place.”

“Gwyneth sealed me to the Sword,” I said, too tired to muster further explanations.

Wisp and Flora flew delighted patterns, filling the air with gleaming trails of sparks, a curtain of color above my head as Beryk trotted onward. The black wolf sneezed and shook his head in annoyance when Wisp flew too low. Flora scolded Wisp.

“Are we close?” I asked.

“Not too far,” Wisp said.

“Oh,” Flora said as she caught a glimpse of my left side. “Your face is….bleeding,” she finished lamely.

“That’s an understatement,” I told her, smiling with the right side of my mouth.

“It looks rather ugly,” she said truthfully, flying closer for a better inspection. “What was it?”

“A branch. Or part of one,” I clarified. “I climbed a tree after escaping, and there was this…winged monster…that tore the tree apart, trying to get at me.”

“A cadengriff,” said Wisp. He flew a corkscrew. “We don’t like them. Nasty creatures.”

“They are powerful, and not very smart,” explained Flora. “An easy target for Malravenar to twist to his own uses.”

I shivered, thinking of the hideous gleaming claws gauging the tree-trunk just above my head. “I can believe that.”

“Vell will stitch that,” Flora said to me. “And if she does not, I will. Wisp will help me.”

“Hopefully Vell will do it,” I said, feeling sick. I cleared my throat, focusing on the feel of the cool mist brushing against my skin.

“I will tell her you are coming!” Wisp said jubilantly, rocketing away, leaving a small neon trail in the darkness.

“He’s too bubbly for me right now,” I said to Flora ruefully.

Flora landed delicately on Beryk’s head, right between his ears. The wolf continued loping along, unfazed in the least by the addition of another small burden, even in so unusual a spot.

“Flora,” I said quietly, “how is Forsythe?”

Flora’s wings beat a cadence of anger as her aura darkened. “He will live,” she said darkly, “but that knight will not, the next time we encounter him.”

“Amen to that,” I said.

Finally the mists parted like a curtain, revealing the river-tree. My heart leapt as I saw its familiar branches and blue-green leaves, barely visible in the darkness. Beryk stopped, and I slid from his back, leaning on him for balance until my legs decided they would bear my weight. For a long moment, I stood and gazed at the tree silently. Then Beryk barked and trotted forward. A shadow detached itself from the river-tree’s gnarled roots. Vell knelt and pressed her forehead against Beryk’s, both wolf and woman closing their golden eyes. She murmured something to him in a wild foreign tongue, the words dancing through the air like a spray of water pluming up from river-rocks. Then she stood and walked quickly to me. For a crazy second I thought she was about to embrace me, but she stopped short, her dark hair melding with the shadows.

“I knew he would find you,” she said to me, frowning as she saw the side of my face. “Well, you’ve gone and gotten yourself clawed up. Sit down and I’ll stitch it up.” And without letting me reply, she turned away, skipping lightly over the tree’s roots to a hollow close to the trunk, picking up her satchel and beginning to gather her tools.

“It’s good to see you too,” I said with a lopsided smile. I found a root that arched up smoothly out of the ground and sat down in front of it, leaning back against it. Wisp came and settled on my shoulder, his small hands pressing against my skin.

“Do not worry, Tess-mortal,” he said reassuringly. “North-witches are very skilled at healing.”

“If you call me a North-witch one more time, Wisp, I’m going to swat you,” Vell said without looking up from threading a long shining needle.

“It’s true,” protested Wisp cheerfully.

“It’s rude,” countered Vell.

“Be nice, Wisp,” I said, leaning my head back against the root and closing my eyes. My entire body ached with exhaustion, and I thought blearily that the effects of Gwyneth’s spell had finally worn off, leaving me longing for sleep. But a heartbeat after I closed my eyes, images flashed like lightning against the back of my eyelids: Ramel, his coppery hair mussed, fighting back to back with Emery as hideous trolls attacked them; Allene, crouched in a tree, shooting arrows down into the chaos with grim precision; Kavoryk, roaring his ferocious battle-cry and wielding a fearsome blood-stained axe. The snapshots flashed in my mind one after another. I heard the clash of metal on metal, the terrible cries of the attacking horde, and the shouts of the besieged defenders. The acrid smell of blood burned in my nose and I opened my eyes with a jolt.

Vell looked over at me questioningly, shielding the spark she had just struck with her flint. The little spark glowed on the tinder, then birthed a tiny flame. She carefully transferred the flame to the wick of a crude lantern—really no more than a candle set into a holder, with a rough frame and handle.

“We have to hurry,” I rasped, my throat suddenly dry.

Vell nodded. “I know. Here.” She handed me a small wooden cup, filled to the brim with a clear liquid. To my surprise, it was only water. I swallowed it gratefully.

“Hold this, here at this height,” Vell said to Flora and Wisp. Flora looked at the lantern and gave a shrill little whistle. Forin and Farin appeared out of the branches of the river-tree, the glimmer of their auras reflecting off the blue-green leaves. The four Glasidhe hoisted the lantern into the air and held it steady. I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ears and my hand shook.

“You’ll have to lay back, Tess. Beryk,” Vell said.

The black wolf padded over to me and after I had shifted my body to a comfortable position, he carefully settled himself over me, his heavy bulk ensuring that I wouldn’t be able to wriggle away from Vell’s ministrations. He laid his huge head along my right arm, so that when I turned my head I gazed into his golden eyes. His tail swept across my legs in a slow, steady rhythm.

“This is going to hurt,” Vell warned me. “I have to clean the wound first, and it will feel terrible.”

“You have a horrible bedside manner,” I told her. For the first few moments, the numbness in my cheek persisted, but then it gave way to pure agony, and my fingers tightened in Beryk’s fur. I heard Vell curse softly as blood began trickling down my face again. She poured something onto my face that stung like a whole hive of hornets, and Beryk had to press me down with his body as I jerked. I bit down on a cry of pain.

After what seemed an eternity, Vell finished cleaning the wound to her satisfaction. The bite of a needle was no less pleasant than the sting of the antiseptic, but it was a smaller pain that I could handle more easily. I lost count of the stitches, sweat sliding down my back from the heavy warmth of the wolf on top of me. Finally Vell delicately applied a cool ointment and wiped the blood from the rest of my face.

“There,” she said, her voice shaking a little. She cleared her throat. “That should do for now.”

“How many stitches did it take?” I croaked as I turned my head back, looking at her with my good eye.

“Too many,” she said, slipping her tools back into her satchel, “but if you must know, and I’m assuming you’ll badger me until I tell you…fifty-two.”

“Damn,” I chuckled. The laugh turned into a cough. I pushed at Beryk. “You’re too big to be a lap-dog.” He gave me a dry look that said he was clearly not amused by my attempt at humor, and leisurely stretched before standing. I gingerly stretched my legs, then held up a hand. Vell pulled me up. “All right.” I took a deep breath and began picking my way over the roots of the tree, breathing in its sweet scent.

“This is the place, isn’t it?” Vell asked, trailing behind me.

I nodded. “The Sword is in the tree.”

Vell murmured something that sounded like a prayer and kissed one of her rings. When I glanced at her, she grinned and shrugged.

“I am Northern,” she said, her accent growing stronger. “Superstition is bred into our blood.”

I stepped up onto a huge root and walked soft-footed along its length until I reached the trunk of the tree. Placing a hand against the trunk, I wondered what to do next. The trunk’s girth was so great that I doubted Vell and I would be able to touch hands if we stood on either side and pressed ourselves against the smooth bark. With my other hand, I pulled out the pendant. The small glowing Sword flared fiercely within the iron replica of the river-tree. The spreading branches of the great tree created a cathedral-ceiling over me, a latticework of wood and leaves and stars, night sky the cement holding it all together. I loathed the idea of destroying such beauty. I thought of Gwyneth, and I knew that there had to be a way to retrieve the Sword without killing the river-tree.

I reached within myself, to pull up a thread of taebramh—and to my surprise a gleaming blue-silver glow greeted me, burning brighter than my white fire ever had. I drew out a small spark, and it turned into a stream as I let it flow down my arm and into the trunk of the river-tree.

“Sword of Greatest Power,” I said, “heed your rightful Bearer.” And I willed the Sword to come to me, to break free of its secret sleeping-place where it had slumbered for centuries. For a moment the night held its breath. Everything was suspended. Then the world exploded into shards of silver light. Faintly, as if from a distance, I heard Vell gasp and Beryk bark. I felt the tree drawing me in, the Sword pulling me toward its dark chamber. My hand disappeared into the trunk of the tree, sliding incorporeally through the wood. The invisible current swirled around me, pushing me farther into the tree until my entire arm had been swallowed. I realized the Sword was not going to stop—it was going to use its siren-call to draw me down to its resting-place deep within the heartwood of the river-tree, where it had lain for four centuries and which it was loathe to leave for the bright open world.

“No,” I said, digging my heels into the hardness of the root beneath my feet. “You will heed me. I command you by my blood, and by the blessing of Gwyneth, your last Bearer!”

The pulling paused, as if the Sword had heard my words. I sent my own rope of power deep into the river-tree, feeling through the age-rings that told of drought and rainfall, sun-soaked summers and harsh winters. I burrowed through the trunk until I felt something different, something cold and smooth and harder than mere wood. A thrill shivered through me as I wrapped my power around the hilt of the Iron Sword. For a moment, it fought me, refusing to move. Then, as it felt my taebramh, it acquiesced, drawing its own power back into itself, allowing me to draw it toward the surface of the trunk as though I was drawing it out of its sheath. The river-tree trembled as I wrapped my fingers around the hilt of the Sword, my arm still shoulder-deep in its trunk. I steadily pulled the Iron Sword from the womb of the tree, stepping back slowly. The hilt emerged, the emerald gleaming like an eye opening on the world for the first time. The blade sang as I drew it free of the tree, awakened from its sluggish slumber by the caress of the fresh night air and the feel of my warm pulsing skin upon its hilt.

I felt the earth shift slightly beneath me, and the ground gave up the battered leather sheath. Still holding the Sword in one hand, I picked up the sheath, dusted it off as best I could, and slid the blade into it, silently apologizing for cutting it off from the fresh air so soon after its rebirth. The Sword itself didn’t seem to care, its power thrumming through the sheath. I discovered that if I pushed at the Sword’s power a bit with my own, I could mold and shape the Sword’s aura. The river-tree groaned heavily.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” I said to it, but I had a feeling it was mourning the loss of its secret charge. Then I took a moment to consider the Sword. I contemplated simply moving my own sword to the other side, and adding the Sword to my belt; but then I remembered Gwyneth’s words: Just the idea of the Sword is often enough. So though I’d never worn a sword on my back before, I fastened the blade as Gwyneth had worn it, fumbling for a moment with the unfamiliar straps. The sheath fit perfectly along my spine, although I was sure the Sword had been longer than my torso when I’d held it bare in the moonlight. Its power thrummed into my ribs, vibrating through the base of my skull and down into my hips. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, and the blue-silver fire beneath my breastbone pulsed with every thrum.

My exhaustion fell away from me. I knew I was still tired, but the heady power of the Sword pushed it beneath the surface. I grinned as I turned and walked back along the tree-root. Vell stood a small distance away, looking at me with her impenetrable golden eyes.

“That is the Iron Sword, isn’t it?” she asked me, a trace of awe in her voice.

“Yes,” I said simply.

“So you are the true Bearer,” Vell said. She shook her head. “You were right, Beryk, I should have taken that guard up on his bet.”

“What bet?” I asked indignantly as we began moving in the direction of the path.

“There were rumors spreading like wildfire through camp, right before the Vaelanmavar arrested you,” she said. “Some said you were a spy for Malravenar, and others said you were the true Bearer, a descendant of Gwyneth herself.” She grinned. “Some even said you were both.”

The Iron Sword pulsed angrily at the mention of Malravenar, and at the suggestion that I was a spy. I smiled a little at its possessive indignation. “I’m sorry you didn’t make a few coins off me when you had the chance,” I said. Wisp landed on my shoulder, tugging at my hair.

“Tess-mortal,” he said. “We cannot get so close to you anymore, not with the Great Blade unleashed. But we will follow at a distance.”

“Hold on, Wisp,” I said. I drew in the Iron Sword’s power. It was like flexing a newly discovered muscle, or one that had not been used in a very long time. I held tight until the Sword’s power nestled along my ribs, below my own pulsing well of bright fire.

“Better?”

“Much improved,” Wisp said happily, settling onto my shoulder.

“Now,” I said, “how are we getting to the battle?”

“Well,” Vell said, “you’re getting there the same way you came here.” Beryk looked at her intently, his ears pricked forward, and she murmured something to him softly. He whined deep in his throat but walked over to my side.

“Does he grow on command?” I asked wonderingly. This time it was unmistakable: Beryk’s head reached just below my shoulders, his legs almost as long as my own.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Vell said, grinning. “It’s not half as strange as a mortal that melts into trees.”

“Not my fault, but all right,” I replied. I had to jump a little and pull myself up to swing my leg over Beryk’s back this time. It was hard without stirrups, but I didn’t have to hook my toes over his back to keep my feet from hitting the ground. “You’re coming, right?”

Vell grinned predatorily, her white teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Beryk’s muscles bunched beneath me and I barely had time to grab two handfuls of fur before he shot forward, racing back toward the forest. A wild joy rose within me as he ran, the new weight of the Iron Sword upon my back, its power pressing against my ribs like a lover’s embrace. I threw back my head and let out a fierce challenging cry, my voice rising up into the blackness of the night as we raced toward battle.

Chapter 32

We flew through the forest, swift and silent as shadows. I urged Beryk on, my heart racing as I heard the sounds of the fight ahead. Wisp launched himself from my shoulder, streaking up into the canopy of trees overhead with Flora close behind him. A snarling growl rumbled in Beryk’s chest as we drew closer. I glimpsed dark forms and flashing blades through the trees. A gibbering toad-like creature leapt into our path, and Beryk barely broke stride as he clamped down on the misshapen creature with his jaws, crunching its bones with his sharp teeth savagely. I felt no revulsion, only a hard sort of triumph, as the wolf tossed the corpse of the toad-thing away.

I drew my plain blade as it became clear that Beryk intended to barrel into the battle with me on his back. I let the power of the Iron Sword mingle with my own taebramh, and silvery blue fire flowed down my blade, illuminating the forest fiercely. Beryk howled as we burst through the last trees, his voice rising above the din of battle, wavering like a banner in the night air.

The battle had transformed the clearing around the barracks into a nightmarish landscape of flashing blades, dark forms leaping like grossly twisted shadows, howls and snarls clashing with the shouts of the Sidhe soldiers, and the cries of the wounded and fallen. The archers used flame-arrows, working in pairs: one archer set the arrow to the bow, the point wrapped in an oil-soaked rag, drawing back calmly and aiming for a dark creature. The second archer touched a flame to the arrow, and it burst into flame just as the first archer released it, whistling through the air in a bright streak before embedding itself in the writhing form of a troll.

At Beryk’s fierce howl, a strange pause fell over the battle as the Sidhe turned as one to face what they thought to be a new foe. Beryk knocked aside a smaller troll with one swipe of his forepaw, gathered himself and with a mighty leap cleared the lines of the dark creatures, landing in the midst of the Sidhe defenders. Even as they raised their swords, their pale faces shining in the fleeting light of the fire-arrows, Beryk wheeled and charged into the thickest knot of enemies. I gripped his back as tightly as I could with my knees, grasping the fur at his neck with one hand and wielding my blade with the other. The Sword, in its sheath at my back, pushed at me as it sensed the enemy, asking to be released. I soothed it with a thought, telling it that we would bide our time; we would strike when the time was just right.

Beryk darted forward, clamping his jaws on the neck of a cat-clawed creature. He tossed it to the side and while it tried to understand the blood spurting from its neck, I took off its head with a swipe of my blade. The feel of my blade sinking into flesh and bone vibrated up my arm and shook me down to my soul, but I pushed aside the feeling and thrust my sword through a bellowing troll, silencing its war-cry. We cut a swath of destruction across the clearing, Beryk using his teeth and his claws, and me using my sword, the Iron Sword still trembling with anticipation, its power quivering within me. A huge garrelnost roared its challenge to Beryk, its rider wearing a crown of bone and teeth, a small skull capping the pommel of his blade.

The battlefield did not clear before us, like in so many war movies I had seen, but an inexorable force pulled me toward the bone-crowned rider. The evil radiating from him sucked at the power of the Sword, trying to stifle it. I cut down a troll and another toad-like creature as Beryk slashed his way through a small knot of club-wielding trolls. One of the ugly creatures managed to smash its club down on one of Beryk’s front paws, and the wolf snarled in pain and fury. He killed the troll savagely and then I slid from his back and fought on foot beside him, battle-fury making the stiffness in my legs barely noticeable. Black gore slid in rivulets down my sword. For a heartbeat, I glimpsed Ramel, fighting with his sword in his left hand, blood striping the sleeve of his sword-arm. I opened my mouth to shout to him but more creatures pressed in on me, wielding crude blades and clubs and maces. A massive creature with protruding eyes swung his club at me, and I leapt to the side, the spike-studded weapon barely clearing my chest. The creature bellowed, showing a mouthful of glistening teeth, row upon row of them stained with gore. Its small eyes burned with malice as it grasped its club with two hands. I shifted my weight warily, eyeing the creature, watching for an opening to swing my blade.

Snarling, the creature swept its club at me with deceptive speed. I jumped to the side, thrusting my blade at its side, feeling my sword slide into flesh. But the creature swung its weapon again with inhuman alacrity, and I barely blocked the stroke, my arm going numb from the impact. My sword sheared in two, the blade breaking, leaving me holding a shard attached to the hilt. The creature grinned and advanced on me. I darted toward it, stabbing it in its club-arm with the remnant of my sword. It growled in irritation, plucking the sword from its shoulder as if brushing away a fly.

I drew my dagger, looked at it and then at the hulking creature bearing down on me. It swiped viciously at me again and I dove to the ground, the wind from the club washing over the back of my neck. The Sword’s thrumming increased to an insistent, bone-aching hum. I clenched my jaw and scrambled away from the creature, stumbling to my feet.

Reaching over my head with my left hand—my right arm still stung from the blow that had shattered my sword—I drew the Iron Sword from its sheath, unleashing its power. I put some of my own taebramh into its energy, and I could feel the power rolling over the battlefield like thunderclouds, weakening the Sidhe fighters and the enemy alike. The creature paused, a look of confusion on its ugly face. Hoping that the Sword would heed my markings, I sent out a flood of blue-silver sparks. They burst from my palm like a swarm of fireflies, and I willed them to mark the Sidhe and the Glasidhe, to differentiate the enemy from the Dark Queen’s forces. I felt the sparks latching onto the Sidhe soldiers—one settled on Ramel’s copper-gold hair, and another marked Donovan’s forehead. I let go of those small bits of my taebramh as they fulfilled their purpose, the Sword’s power drawing away from each marked soldier. My taebramh insulated them from the Iron Sword, a marking of fire rather than blood to protect against fury from the sky.

The Iron Sword felt light in my hand, the emerald in its pommel gleaming in anticipation as it sensed the battle still raging about us. Beryk circled behind me, his heavy growl and gleaming teeth holding several smaller trolls at bay while I faced the club-wielding giant. Its small eyes stared at the Sword and then at me. The Sword’s power quivered overhead, awaiting my command, gathering its strength to strike.

“Not so much of a bully now, are you?” I said, grinning.

With an incoherent snarl, the giant lunged at me. The Sword flared as I countered its club, slicing through the heavy wood easily. Breathless with the power of the weapon in my hand, triumph rushing up within me, I thrust the Iron Sword into the giant, my head barely reaching its stomach as I lunched forward. Blue flame shot down the blade and the creature screamed horribly as the fire consumed him, licking hungrily over his skin. I pulled the sword back and stood, watching. The flames roared and the giant shrieked, falling to the ground and writhing as his flesh burned.

I turned, small flames still licking the edge of the Sword. The smaller trolls that Beryk had been holding at bay gibbered in fear, scrambling over each other as they ran, four-limbed, into the darkness of the wood. The blue light from the giant’s burning corpse lit the field with an eerie glow. The Sword nudged at me, and the image of the iron circle came up in my mind. Then a ring of blue flame replaced the iron circle. I looked down at the weapon in my hand, knowing suddenly that the gleaming of the emerald in the pommel was much more than just light playing off the jewel.

“It seems only fair,” I said to it. “Let’s give them a taste of their own medicine, shall we?”

In answer, the Sword roared with blue fire, power crackling and snapping through the blade. The blue fire—the Sword’s power, mixed with a bit of my own—leapt through the grass without burning it, racing out to encircle the clearing. The fleeing trolls had made it into the forest but a tendril of fire rushed after them, enveloping them in a furious column. Howls and cries of despair rose from a few of the creatures, and a shout of triumph and recognition went up from the Sidhe as they saw me, the Sword blazing in my hand.

The bone-crowned rider on the giant garrelnost turned his beast toward me, raising his own black blade in challenge. Beryk came up beside me, snarling at the garrelnost. For a terrible instant, I remembered another garrelnost, brave Kirby clinging to its throat. But the Sword flared in my hand, its power expanding against my ribs. I took a breath and set my jaw, striding forward.

This time, I was not standing in the dusty Texas heat, watching helplessly. This time, I was not armed only with an iron horseshoe. And this time, I would be the one sliding my sword into the beast, dispatching it with one clean stroke after I killed its rider.

The dark rider dismounted, sliding down from his mount with boneless grace. His face looked like a man’s face, but as he turned his gaze on me his eyes were black as the night surrounding us, his skin gray with the pallor of death. The Sword called out silently, sending a ringing dare to the notched black blade in the rider’s hand. The garrelnost advanced a step behind its master, and Beryk walked just behind me.

The bonfire blaze of blue flames roared higher around the clearing. Scant steps separated us, and the dark rider stopped a few swords’-lengths away, considering me with his eerie black eyes. The garrelnost slavered and snarled at Beryk, who stood like a wolf carved of obsidian just behind my right shoulder, his golden eyes riveted on the garrelnost, calm and resolute.

“You challenge me, young mortal?” the dark rider said. His voice slid through the air like a snake, thick with evil intent.

I held up the Iron Sword and regarded him silently, every muscle in my body stretched taut with tension.

“Answer, or you will die much more painfully,” the rider said.

The sounds of battle floated around us as I lifted my chin and smiled at my enemy. “I thought it was a rhetorical question. But yes, I am challenging you.”

“Your blade will not protect you from the Dark Lord’s power,” the rider said.

The Iron Sword blazed with hot blue fire in response, the air thickening with its energy. “Well, let’s see about that,” I said as the Sword’s surge of power spurred me forward. Beryk leapt past me, launching himself at the garrelnost, which jumped to meet him in mid-air. The two huge beasts collided in a rush of snarls and growls and flashing claws, dirt flying into the air as they landed heavily, digging a furrow into the earth with their weight.

The Iron Sword met the dark blade of the rider with a great bell-like sound that vibrated through my bones. My head barely reached the dark rider’s shoulder and I used all my speed to dodge a thrust of the dark blade. But there was a new notch on the black sword, still glowing with blue fire, and the Iron Sword gleamed fiercely, its edge unmarred. As I blocked another hideously strong sweep of the black blade, whirling away to thrust at the rider’s side, the Sword pushed at me. It asked me to release its full power, to let it descend furiously on the enemy as it had in the days of my ancestress. I tasted power in the back of my throat, power struggling its way up from the fire behind my breastbone. It lined my mouth with sweet promise.

I dodged and danced away from the dark blade, sweat prickling my brow, the wound on my cheek beginning to pulse painfully with each heartbeat. The hulking rider advanced on me, his strength undiminished. I thought of the raw power of the Sword, and Gwyneth’s warning that the idea was often enough. But it seemed I had no choice—the dark rider’s forces had trapped the Sidhe with their iron, and I had trapped the creatures with my blue-burning fire. If I did not end it, they would tear each other to pieces, and any victory would be hollow, soaked in the blood of many lives.

“Only if you don’t touch the marked ones,” I gritted out, cutting another notch into the dark blade with the Sword. I felt the Sword flare eagerly in reply, the emerald shining in one brief flash. I threw myself to the ground, the black blade sweeping over my head, and rolled quickly as the dark rider buried his sword where my head had been just a second before. “All right,” I gasped, and as I sprang to my feet I ripped away the barrier holding in the Sword’s power. A short breathless cry escaped my lips as the ancient power slammed through me like a sledgehammer battering against the inside of my ribs.

The blue fire blazed green, the color of the emerald, absorbing the rush of mind-numbing power streaming from the Sword. The green wall of fire roared higher, and higher, eliciting cries of despair from the dark rider’s forces. The dark rider gave a wordless roar of fury as he saw the power of the Sword, and raised his dark blade for a powerful blow. I dodged, tossed the Sword into my right hand and slid the blade beneath his guard, thrusting it into his chest. The emerald-green fire burst from the Sword, blackening the edges of the terrible wound. Snarling even as black blood bubbled from his lips, the dark rider raised his blade to strike. I pulled at the Sword but it refused to come free, the fire still licking hungrily at the dark rider’s body.

A shining silver blade flashed behind the dark rider, slicing through the arm holding the dark blade. I stared at Finnead in surprise. A smudge of blue fire burned on his brow and behind him I saw Molly, wielding two blades. On her head, there was not just a spark, but a crown of blue fire—my taebramh had made certain that she would not be harmed.

The dark rider fell to his knees, emerald flames enveloping him like a ghostly shroud. I pulled the Sword free with a heave, and it blazed in triumph. The wall of emerald fire, taller now than the trees surrounding the battlefield, crashed down like a tidal wave. Many Sidhe fighters dropped to their knees and covered their heads, but the thundering wave of power separated cleanly about each and every one of them as it crushed the dark creatures. For a moment, the battlefield remained awash in emerald fire, the Sidhe looking about in awe and confusion. And then the Sword slowly gathered the remnants of its power back to itself, drawing it up through the blade, into my arm, back into the space below my taebramh. I gazed at the Sword, watching as the rivulets of emerald fire slowly faded to white, and then to a silvery blue.

The charred skeleton of the dark rider lay at my feet, indistinguishable from the crown of bones he had worn. The other creatures’ corpses lay in smoking heaps, the stench of death filling the air. I fell to my knees and retched, bitter bile filling my mouth. When I’d finished, I spat disgustedly, and thought that at least I’d had the presence of mind to hold the Sword to one side. I had a feeling the ancient weapon wouldn’t have taken kindly to the mess.

“For your first battle, that was well done,” said a familiar voice behind me. I looked up and saw Ramel standing over me, a hasty bandage wrapped tightly around his arm. The smudge of blue fire on his brow was fading slowly. I looked down at the Sword and found it absorbing the last of the blue fire. Shakily, I slid it into its sheath. It settled into the sheath with a contented hum, an exhausted and somewhat smug triumph in its tone.

“No need to get cocky,” I told it as I let go of the pommel. A little ripple of energy very much like a chuckle shivered through me.

Once the Sword was sheathed, Ramel stepped closer and helped me stand. He embraced me in a fierce, brotherly hug, then held me at arm’s length, inspecting me. “Easy now,” he said, taking my chin in his hand and turning my face to examine the long stripe of stitches running down my cheek.

“Courtesy of a cadengriff,” I told him. The edges of my vision frayed with exhaustion and I swayed. I felt another warm form at my other side. A strange singing filled my ears, faint and beautiful.

“So you are the true Bearer,” Finnead said softly. He still held the Brighbranr, and I realized that it was his blade singing, and the Iron Sword thrummed in response. Finnead looked at his sword, then at me, and went down on one knee, holding the Brighbranr before him like an offering, bowing his dark head. I stared at him for a moment in shock, then lurched forward, pulling at his arm.

“Please don’t,” I said. “I don’t care if it’s courtesy, I just…”

He gazed at me with those enigmatic blue eyes as he stood, still holding the Brighbranr on his palms. The Brighbranr’s song swelled. It was achingly beautiful. I heard Ramel let out a breath beside me. “I have never heard her sing like this before,” Finnead told me softly.

Then the Iron Sword hummed a note of acknowledgment, satisfied with the Brighbranr’s greeting. Finnead’s blade fell silent, and he sheathed it, running a hand through his hair. After he slid the blade into its sheath, exhaustion settled over his face, as though the Brighbranr had been supplying him with the energy to keep fighting. “Tess…you saved my company,” he started, hesitating.

“You brought back the Iron Sword,” added Ramel, awe still coloring his voice.

I shrugged. “I did what had to be done.” I paused, feeling the weight of the Sword on my back. “I claimed what was mine.” Shifting uncomfortably, I finished, “I’ll tell you the whole story later, I promise. But for now…we should focus on other things. Are all the creatures…are they dead?” A prickle of reproach from the Sword needled me; it was a bit offended, that I would even question the efficacy of its sweeping power. I sent it a silent apology, adding that it was more for Ramel and Finnead’s benefit than my own that I asked.

“Resoundingly,” Finnead replied with a smile.

“You’re bleeding,” I told him, touching his side. Then I turned my head. “Where’s Beryk?”

At the sound of his name, Beryk, now noticeably smaller than during the battle, loped over and thrust his head into my hand. I bent down and pressed my face into his fur for a brief moment. Then he shot like an arrow across the clearing as Vell emerged from the woods at a run, her sword drawn and ready.

“What the hell?” she said, looking at the charred corpses of the enemy. She kicked one with her boot-toe vengefully. Then she sighted me and strode across the clearing. “You couldn’t have waited ten more minutes? So I could kill just one?” she asked me. Beryk snorted.

I grinned lopsidedly. “Sorry.”

After shaking her head and nudging the bones of the dark rider with the tip of her sword, Vell grinned back at me and sheathed her blade. “Well, Tess, I will say you’re a handy girl to have around in a fight.”

I chuckled. Finnead touched my arm.

“I must go see to my company,” he said, blue eyes heavy. I nodded, and he left me with Ramel. I didn’t envy him the task of counting the dead.

“I should help,” I said.

“You can barely stand,” Ramel told me gently.

Vell fished something out of her belt-pouch and held it out to me.

“That stuff tastes horrible,” I protested. A hollow feeling had replaced hunger, and my stomach had stopped growling at some point during the battle.

“Eat it anyway,” Vell told me, pressing the dense Northern bread into my hand.

The bread was heavy and cloying against my tongue, but I choked it down, and immediately felt better. Some of the shakiness left my limbs and Ramel relaxed his grip on my elbow. I hadn’t even realized he’d been supporting some of my weight until I was able to stand up properly again. Then Ramel went very still beside me, and I looked up to find Molly standing in front of me, her dark hair shining in the moonlight. A low growl vibrated in Beryk’s chest until Vell put a hand on his head, her own gaze tensely riveted on me.

“I apologize,” Molly said softly, “for letting my uncle treat you so roughly.” Her beautiful face remained ethereal, still glowing with that Fae light. My heart twisted, and I had to clear my throat before I spoke.

“Do you remember any more of your family?” I asked, searching her face.

She shook her head, her gray eyes inscrutable. “I have no other living relative. My father was his brother.”

I looked over her shoulder, searching for the Vaelanmavar.

“He is not with me, if you must know,” she said.

Ramel tensed beside me, and I knew that he felt the same dark tendril of foreboding that crawled up my spine.

“I came to tell you,” Molly continued smoothly, “that one of your friends, Emery I think is his name, is dying.” She turned and pointed. “He is lying over there. I did what I could to help him.”

Before Molly finished her sentence, I pushed past her, her ice-cold voice weighing on my heart as much as the words she had spoken. I ran toward where she had pointed, Ramel close behind me. Jumping over a charred pile of bones, I slid to a stop in the grass, almost colliding with Emery’s prone form.

“Emery,” I said desperately, touching his shoulder.

“We need a light,” Ramel said, casting about for anything that would serve as a torch. Without looking up from Emery’s still body, I sent up a small glowing ball of taebramh, casting a bright blue light over the scene. Ramel moved to Emery’s other side and rolled him over so that the wounded man lay on his back. Under the blue light, his face looked ghostly, his dark hair standing out starkly against his pale forehead. I pressed two fingers to his neck and breathed a sigh of relief when I found a pulse. His skin was alarmingly cold. Ramel took out his dagger and slit the front of Emery’s shirt open, ripping away the fabric.

The wound stretched from Emery’s right shoulder to the left side of his rib-cage. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly, but that was no comfort since the ground below him shone wetly with dark blood.

“Emery,” I said, laying my hand along the side of his face. I knew that Emery would have never tolerated such an open display of emotion if he’d been conscious, and I would have given anything to hear one of his cool, acerbic remarks, to see the dry humor in his eyes as he delivered a witty comment. “Come on, open your eyes. You have to…you have to keep me humble, now that I’m Bearer and all.”

Ramel looked on grimly, and stopped one of the Sidhe running past. He requisitioned a satchel, and promptly found a flask of dark liquid. “This will rouse him, if anything will,” he said. “It will turn white if there’s iron in the wound.”

We both breathed a sigh of relief when the liquid retained its dark hue, frothing over Emery’s chest. Ramel shook his head when Emery didn’t stir.

“We’re going to lose him,” he said quietly, voice laden with sadness.

“Don’t say that,” I snapped. I pressed my free hand to Emery’s chest, just above the wound, feeling the faltering beat of his heart. I closed my eyes, and took a spark of taebramh, telling my power to sting him out of unconsciousness, and then soothe his pain. The sliver of blue light flowed down my arm and through my palm. Emery jerked beneath my hand, I opened my eyes, and he cried out in pain. But his eyes were open. Ramel said something under his breath—a curse or a prayer, I couldn’t tell which—and leaned over his comrade, speaking softly and quickly into his ear.

Finally Emery nodded, his breath coming harsh and fast. “Do what…you must,” he panted, and then he looked up at me. “Tess…may I…could you…hold…” He closed his eyes briefly, and I couldn’t decide whether it was from the pain of his wound or the difficulty of asking for comfort. I silently took his hand, leaning across him to block his view of Ramel. His hand gripped mine with a desperate strength.

“Move the light a little, please,” Ramel muttered, threading a long needle. The ball of light zipped over to his side, and he reached out with his free hand, positioning it precisely over Emery.

Emery gazed up at me, fighting not to show the pain as Ramel began working. “You…brought me back,” he said wonderingly. “Your power…I had to obey…”

“Of course you had to obey,” I said thickly. “I wasn’t going to let you leave us, not when all the fun’s just starting.” My attempt at a smile wobbled, but he seemed to accept it.

“Please,” he gritted out, a groan escaping his clenched teeth as Ramel continued stitching, “don’t…tell Guinna…or Bren. They’ll never…stop worrying…”

I brushed his dark hair back from his forehead as he bit his lip. “I’ll let you come up with a story for the scar then.”

“They…don’t need to know…how close…” He had to stop, the pain overwhelming him as Ramel poured another dose of the dark liquid into the wound. My hand ached from his strong grip. He arched his back and Ramel grimly held him down. I put my other hand on his uninjured shoulder, my thumb rubbing soothing circles on his skin. After a few moments, the wave of agony passed and his body went limp again. I tapped his cheek gently.

“Stay awake for me, Emery,” I told him.

“Almost done,” Ramel said encouragingly.

“Tell me...was it really you, with the green fire?” Emery asked me.

“Yes,” I said. “I should have let the Sword free sooner,” I added apologetically.

He shook his head weakly. “Not your fault. I…let a troll…surprise me…your friend, the fendhionne…she saved me.”

I looked down at him in shock. “Molly saved you?”

“I was about to lose my head,” Emery said, a trace of his old acerbic wit in his words. “And she stepped over me…took off the troll’s head instead.”

“I’ll have to thank her, then.” I tried to keep the wonder from my voice. “Or rather, you can thank her yourself.”

Emery clenched his jaw as he tried to smile. I glanced over my shoulder. “Last few stitches,” I told Emery. He nodded and I squeezed his hand.

“Don’t tell anyone…that I held your hand…either,” he wheezed, a real smile glimmering in his eyes.

“Your secret is safe with me. I mean, I can’t have every handsome wounded soldier wanting to hold my hand, in any case,” I pointed out with a grin.

Ramel took out a jar from the satchel and carefully applied a greenish salve to the long ugly line of stitches running like a sash across Emery’s chest. Emery almost broke my fingers when we eased him into a sitting position so that Ramel could bandage his chest, clenching my hand in his own.

The gentle touch of dawn’s first light washed over the clearing as Ramel finished binding Emery’s wound. The cool gray illumination pushed away the shadows, throwing into stark relief the ugly corpses scattered around the battlefield, the still-smoking piles of charred bone and ash. Here and there, I glimpsed shrouded prone figures, covered respectfully with gray cloaks, weapons laid neatly by their sides, and my chest ached. I didn’t have the heart to count the dead. Ramel saw the direction of my gaze as he packed up the healing-satchel. Emery leaned against me, his back resting against my shoulder.

“You did more than any of us could do,” he told me. He smiled a little wryly. “One day the student surpasses the teacher.” He finished placing the healing supplies back in the satchel and caught my gaze with his. “You did that, this night. You made me proud to have been your teacher.”

I smiled lopsidedly. “Thanks, Ramel.”

“Am I interrupting a sentimental moment?”

My head snapped up at the voice, an intense wave of disgust and dislike roiling up within me. The Iron Sword vibrated in its sheath. Ramel slid his arm around Emery’s shoulders, taking the wounded man’s weight. I moved carefully, letting Ramel replace me, and then I stood to face the Vaelanmavar. I drew my shoulders back and forced myself to meet his one-eyed gaze. “Is there a matter which we need to discuss?”

“I would say so,” he said.

I saw Beryk slipping around the edge of the clearing, slinking up in the long grass behind the Vaelanmavar, watching him with the eyes of a hunter.

“You have found the Iron Sword, and for that we owe you our…gratitude,” he continued, leering on the last word.

I heard Ramel draw in a breath and I made a slight cutting motion with my hand behind my back, pretending to check the straps of the sheath. Tilting my head to the side, I watched the Vaelanmavar coolly, waiting for him to go on.

“And now, the time has come for you to give the Sword to its rightful bearer,” he finished. Molly glided up behind him, not noticing or ignoring the crouched shadowy form of the wolf. The Iron Sword pulsed in fury at the Vaelanmavar’s words, and it was all I could do to convince it not to lash out at the knight.

“Who exactly might that be?” I asked, though I knew the answer perfectly well.

The Vaelanmavar motioned to Molly. “The Prophesied One.”

I heard the Mavarbranr droning from within its sheath, a heavy dark tone that sounded nothing like the high, sweet song of Finnead’s blade. It sounded like a drugged man trying to hum a tune he half-remembered. I frowned as the Sword stilled, listening to the drone of the Mavarbranr, trying to understand.

Vell walked up behind me. I glanced at her and she gave me a tight nod, her golden eyes hard and her hand resting lightly on her sword-hilt.

“Slippery things, prophesies,” I told the Vaelanmavar. His one eye narrowed in fury. “I’ve been bound by blood to the Sword.” I saw his hand move toward the hilt of the Mavarbranr, and I drew the Iron Sword from its sheath, blazing with blue fire and pulsing with fury. I leveled the blade, pointing its deadly tip at the Vaelanmavar’s chest. Beryk coiled himself, ready to spring. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” I said softly. “If you draw a sword against me, you will not survive.” The cold deadliness in my voice surprised me, but I knew that there were parts of me now that would scare me a little, being bound to the most powerful weapon in the Sidhe world.

“She speaks the truth, Uncle,” Molly said in her clear, beautiful voice.

I glanced at her in surprise.

“Well,” the Vaelanmavar said, his voice low and venomous as he took a step away from me, “if the mortal bitch speaks truth, then you are of no use to me.” He drew the Mavarbranr in one smooth motion and swung it in a deadly arc, straight toward Molly’s neck. I leapt forward, but before I touched him with the blazing Sword, the clash of another blade meeting the Mavarbranr rang out. Molly knocked the Mavarbranr aside, the second of her twin blades glimmering in her hand, her stroke stopping just short of the Vaelanmavar’s neck. I rested the Iron Sword against the other side of his neck.

“Drop your sword,” I told him softly.

The knight snarled in helpless fury. He started forward half a pace and Molly cut a thin line along the side of his throat. Dark blood slid down his neck, and he froze. I slowly circled him until I stood next to Molly.

“Believe me, they are serious,” Ramel told the Vaelanmavar.

The Vaelanmavar’s one eye glared at me spitefully. “You’ve threatened to kill me twice now, mortal, and yet here I am.” His mouth twisted in a sneer.

“Don’t push your luck,” I replied grimly, and the Iron Sword blazed, energy crackling down its length and hitting the Vaelanmavar like a sledgehammer. He staggered backward and went to his knees. Ramel seized the back of the knight’s shirt and hauled him up.

“I do believe that the attempted murder of a guest of the Queen, not to mention your own blood, is quite enough to arrest you,” Ramel told the knight. Molly sheathed one of her long blades and stepped forward, wresting the Mavarbranr from her uncle’s hand with surprising force, her beauty laced with deadly rage. Ramel bound the knight’s hands behind him. Beryk growled in satisfaction.

“Take care of Emery,” Ramel told me. I nodded, and he shoved the Vaelanmavar forward roughly, marching him back toward the barracks. I saw Donovan walk over to Ramel, sword drawn, joining the escort.

“Good riddance,” Vell said. She spat to the side, glaring at the Vaelanmavar’s diminishing form.

“He was going to kill me,” Molly said, a tremor in her voice. I slid the Iron Sword into its sheath. “He was my only family, and he was going to kill me.” I stepped forward hesitantly.

“You did what you had to do,” I told her gently. A few tears ran down Molly’s cheeks, and then her mouth twisted in anger. She sheathed her blades, her hands trembling.

Then she stepped forward and knelt in front of me. But hers was not the stance of a knight pledging honor to his liege; it was the posture of a prisoner, resigned to the blade of the executioner. She pulled aside her dark hair, baring her neck.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, transfixed.

“My uncle arrested you in my name,” she said quietly. “You may arrest me. Or you may kill me. Whichever you judge proper.”

I fell to my knees in front of Molly, both of my hands going to her shoulders. “Don’t you remember me?” I asked fiercely, my voice breaking. She looked at me dazedly. “We were like sisters. I could never…I could never….” I trailed off as Molly frowned.

“I know…I should,” she said with difficulty. Then she shook her head. “But I cannot remember you. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “It’s not your fault.”

“I have no one now,” she said.

I sat back on my heels. “No,” I told her. “You have me. Even though you don’t remember me, Molly, I remember you. You were the reason I came to this world in the first place, to make sure you didn’t get into too much trouble.” I glanced around the battlefield and smiled a little. “I guess you should have been the one making sure I didn’t get into too much trouble.”

Vell knelt beside Emery, her deft fingers examining Ramel’s work. Emery looked at me for reassurance. I touched Molly’s arm and went over to him, kneeling on his other side. Molly followed me slowly. Between Vell and I, with a few curses on Emery’s part, we eased him back into a sitting position.

“Thank you,” Emery said to Molly, “for…what you did…during the battle.”

After a moment, Molly replied, “You are welcome. I would hope that someone would do the same for me.” The hint of a smile turned up one corner of her mouth, and there again—it was just a flash, just the barest glimpse, but I saw a trace of the Molly I had known.

Despite his slender build, Emery was deceptively heavy. Vell and I managed to get him standing between us, his arms over our shoulders. We took a few shaky steps forward, Emery panting at the movement; then with a small groan he went limp between us. We eased him back to the ground. I stood with my hands on my hips, trying to estimate the distance to the barracks.

“There you are, little one,” rumbled a voice behind me. I turned just in time to see Beryk leap on Kavoryk with a bark. The giant man wrestled with the big black wolf as though he were playing with a puppy. He said something in that wild Northern language. Beryk rolled off the huge man, panting, his tongue lolling out happily between his teeth. Vell rolled her eyes as he trotted back over to her.

Kavoryk stood and dusted himself off, his massive bulk throwing a long shadow in the strengthening light. “I tried to find you before the battle,” he told me. “I went to the prisoner tent, and you were not there.”

“I escaped,” I told him with half a smile.

“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “But I tore the tent down, and freed your knight.”

“He’s not my knight,” I muttered, feeling a blush staining my cheeks. “But thank you for helping him.”

Shrugging his huge shoulders, Kavoryk said, “I gave my word. And you have shown that you are a better fighter than any of us, so I am glad I gave my word.”

Emery coughed a little, opening his eyes. He grimaced. “Sorry,” he rasped. Vell leaned over him, checking his bandages.

“I was not a help to you during the battle,” said Kavoryk, “so I will be a help now.” He strode forward and leaned over Emery, murmuring something to the knight. After a moment, he scooped up the wounded man, his huge hands amazingly gentle. With no more effort than if he were carrying a young child, Kavoryk carried Emery toward the barracks, Vell striding along beside him. I caught Molly’s eye and we followed in the giant man’s wake.

Chapter 33

The rest of the morning passed slowly. After Kavoryk settled Emery in the infirmary, I spoke with Eamon and Allene. Though Malravenar’s creatures had far outnumbered the Sidhe fighters, the company had fought admirably, sustaining only a small number of serious casualties. They told me grimly that the number of dead was greater than the number of seriously injured—the Shadow-servants’ brutality ensured that few survived a grievous wound. The healers worked busily, but they were not overwhelmed. Molly stayed to help with simple tasks such as cutting bandages, her eyes distant as she worked. I went back out onto the battlefield to help with the grim task of clearing the dead.

“At least we don’t have to worry about the enemy dead,” Vell said. Beryk sniffed one of the piles of ash and gave a disdainful growl.

We carried the bodies of the dead to the center of the clearing, laying them side by side. We washed the blood from their faces, closed their staring eyes, straightened splayed limbs. There were eleven still bodies. I paused for a long few moments when I recognized one of the dead: Moryn, the young guard who had lent me his whetting-stone, one of the first nights after I’d come to the barracks. Aching sadness tugged at my heart as I gazed down at his pale, cold face. He still looked so young.

“Only the war dead are honored with pyres,” Donovan explained to me quietly as the Sidhe went into the woods, returning with long branches and deadwood. Vell and I joined them. They stacked the wood in an intricate pattern, building the pyre next to the bodies, and then we lifted the dead onto it. The Iron Sword, still sheathed on my back, began humming a sad, slow song as we carried the last one to the pyre. The Sidhe took up the song as we stepped back.

The words of the song were in an ancient tongue, and I didn’t understand them as they were spoken, but the Sword gently sent me the meaning of it all. The song spoke of life, and death, and the beauty within them both; the great mystery of what lay beyond life, and the sorrow of those left behind. It was a haunting melody.

Finnead stepped forward, a brightly burning torch in his hand. He slid the torch into the base of the pyre, and we all watched as the flames took hold. The bright noon light threw the faces of the dead into sharp relief, and I looked away as the pyre burned higher, dark smoke curling into the cloudless blue sky.

We stood silently by the pyre until it collapsed upon itself, and the flames died down to embers, and then we walked silently back to the barracks. I blinked against the bright sun, blaming it for the tears stinging my eyes.

Flora and Wisp descended on me as I was walking back toward the barracks.

“You were magnificent,” Flora told me, glowing bright with pride as she hovered in front of me.

“You were the best of all the fighters, and the dark ones will fear you!” Wisp crowed, turning a somersault in mid-air.

Flora flew a little closer to me. “Are you not pleased by the victory?”

I blinked tiredly. “Of course I’m…pleased. But…” The side of my face was beginning to ache again, fierce sparks of pain radiating from the wound. I sat down under one of the trees by the barracks, relishing the cool shade. I unbuckled the Iron Sword from my back, resting the sheath across my lap. “It’s hard to be happy about a victory when we just lit a pyre, Flora.”

Flora’s glow dimmed a bit. “Yes. That is true. But if you had not arrived, many more would have died.”

I leaned my head back against the tree-trunk, closing my eyes. “I know. Saying that over and over again, though…it’s like I’m trying to convince myself that I did enough…I could have escaped earlier…or….”

Despite the dull throbbing pain of my cheek, my exhausted body demanded sleep. I slid into light slumber, the Sword across my lap. I felt one of the Glasidhe land delicately on my shoulder—Flora, I thought, from her careful movements. Then I heard someone approach the tree, and I opened my eyes, struggling to fend off sleep.

“You are exhausted,” Kavoryk said, a strange kindness in his low rumbling voice. “Come now.” And with me clutching the Sword to my chest, he lifted me easily, carrying me into the barracks just as he had carried Emery hours before. Someone had spread a few blankets in the corner of the first room, by the fireplace. Kavoryk set me down gently. I rolled onto my uninjured side and promptly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, hands still wrapped around the Iron Sword.

It seemed like only a few moments later that someone shook my shoulder gently. A cold damp nose nudged my arm. I sat up with a groan, opening my eyes to find Beryk sitting in front of me, and Vell kneeling beside him.

“The Vaelanbrigh is going to be addressing everyone in this room soon,” she told me quietly, settling herself cross-legged on the floor. I started to yawn and quickly stopped, gasping as pain seared across my left cheek.

“Can I check that?” Vell asked. I nodded and she reached for my face with one hand, turning my chin to get a better view.

“Should I get Eamon or Allene to take a look at it?” I asked, trying not to move my lips as I spoke.

Vell shook her head, golden eyes still intense with concentration. “It looks to be healing well. Being Bearer should help you heal up faster. Or at least, that’s what the Northern legends say.” She grinned briefly.

“I bet I still look like the bride of Frankenstein,” I muttered.

Shrugging as she sat back, Vell said noncommittally, “It is a rather tough-looking line of stitches, if I do say so myself.”

I smiled on the side of my face that she hadn’t sewn back together.

Flora and Wisp dropped a cloth bundle in front of me. Flora alighted between Beryk’s ears again. It seemed the wolf enjoyed her company.

“We got you food,” Wisp told me seriously.

“Thanks,” I said gratefully, devouring the bread and cheese as my stomach rumbled.

“That was impressive,” the Glasidhe said, peering down at the crumbs left on the cloth.

Sidhe began filtering into the room, sitting cross-legged on the floor in small groups. Beryk placed himself directly in front of me—he was larger than a moment before, shielding me from the probing gazes of the Sidhe soldiers. I smiled my lopsided grin at him gratefully, running my hand over the soft fur of his neck.

The room was full when Finnead entered, with Donovan and Ramel flanking him, and Allene following just behind them. I noticed her watching Finnead carefully, and I guessed that she hadn’t wanted to let him out of the infirmary, or he hadn’t let her treat him as long or as thoroughly as she’d wanted. I turned my gaze to Finnead as he walked to the front of the room, but there was no stiffness in his lithe gait. The Sidhe remained sitting. The Vaelanbrigh arrived at the front of the room, and silence settled over the group. Ramel came over to me and gave me his hand, helping me stand. Beryk stood as well, staying by my side. Vell watched Ramel with hawk-like golden eyes.

“We have honored our dead,” Finnead began, his blue eyes heavy, “and we will continue to honor them, by carrying on their fight.” He paused, looking at me. “And if it had not been for the Bearer of the Sword, many more of us would have been laid on that pyre.”

The silence in the room sharpened as all eyes were turned upon me. I kept my gaze on Finnead, waiting for him to go on. The Iron Sword sent me a wave of reassurance, stifling my embarrassment.

“The Iron Sword has returned to us, wielded by one of the last Bearer’s blood,” Finnead continued. “And I pledge the Brighbranr to its service.” He drew his sword and held it out before him, much as Gwyneth had held the Iron Sword out to me. I drew the Sword, and touched it to the Brighbranr. The Brighbranr flared, and a high clear note sounded, and then the room was filled with the hiss of every other blade being freed from its sheath, the Sidhe standing as one. I moved through the room, touching the Sword to each blade, and when I had finished they were satisfied, sheathing their swords.

“Now, we shall prepare to return to Darkhill,” Finnead said. “We are at war, and we must regroup with the rest of the Queen’s forces.”

After Finnead finished speaking, the group slowly dispersed. A few of the fighters bowed their heads in my direction, touching two fingers to their foreheads in gestures of respect. Unsure of the proper response, I nodded to each of them. Eventually, only a handful of us remained in the room: Finnead, Donovan, Ramel, Vell, myself and, to my surprise, Molly.

“What will you do with the Vaelanmavar?” Molly asked Finnead.

Finnead studied her for a long moment. “He shall be taken back to Darkhill, to be judged by the Queen.”

Molly nodded, glanced at me, and left the room.

Donovan sat down heavily in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Finnead remained standing, staring into the fire. Ramel took the seat next to Donovan, and ran his hands through his hair. Vell stood with her hand on Beryk’s head, rubbing slow circles in the wolf’s fur with her thumb.

“Well,” she said, “what are we going to do now?”

“Return to Darkhill,” Ramel said, but there was something of a question in his voice.

“Mab still thinks I’m a traitor,” I said. I shook my head. “I can’t go back. Not now, at least.”

“I’m sure that the misunderstanding could be resolved,” Donovan said reasonably. “Especially now that you are Bearer.”

“Going back and putting myself under her power again, especially with the Sword, doesn’t strike me as the best thing to do.” I thought of the smoking ruins of the Saemhradall, and the fear in Titania’s voice as she had faded from my last vision. “The Seelie Court has been attacked, too. Titania is a prisoner.”

“You would help them and not us?” Donovan asked sharply.

“I never said that,” I replied. “There’s no reason at all I can’t help you both. In fact, I think that’s part of my duty, as the Bearer, isn’t it?” I paced the room restlessly.

“If you go to the Seelie Court, Mab will think you even more of a traitor,” Ramel said.

“If the Seelie Court falls, then I don’t know if even I can save the Unseelie Court,” I countered. The Iron Sword hummed in agreement.

“You have the most powerful weapon in our world.” Ramel was uncharacteristically serious as he watched me pace.

I stopped and looked at him. “And Malravenar is the most powerful evil your world has ever known.” I took in a breath. “I have to go to the Seelie Court. And then, if I can’t free Titania there, I’ll go to the Deadlands to face Malravenar.”

“You can’t go alone,” Vell said. “I’m coming.”

I nodded, smiling gratefully.

“I’m sure Kavoryk will come, too,” she said.

“I will come,” Finnead said.

We all stared at him.

“What?” I said. Ramel and Donovan were speechless.

“If you have the Vaelanbrigh of the Dark Court among your escort, they might be apt to take you more seriously,” he explained calmly.

“I have the Sword,” I said.

“But you don’t have Court manners, and you don’t have Sidhe blood.”

I blinked. “All right, then.”

Ramel stood, his chair scraping along the floor noisily. “Who will take the Vaelanmavar back as prisoner, if you’re going with Tess?”

“You, of course,” Finnead replied smoothly. “And with the blessing of the Ancient, you or one of the other young knights might take his sword and his title, once Mab sentences him.”

Ramel sat back down, looking dazed. Donovan lost his amazed look, and instead gazed at Finnead thoughtfully. Finally he nodded.

“I trust you will tell the Queen that I still carry her honor high in my loyalties,” Finnead said to them. Donovan nodded again. Ramel ran his hands through his hair.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Vell said with a grin, Beryk giving a yip beside her. She turned. “I’ll go fetch Kavoryk. He’ll be excited, too.”

I couldn’t help but smile as the Northerner walked quickly from the room, a new bounce in her step.

“It is decided,” Finnead said with a note of finality. He looked at me. “It’s a long journey. We should start as soon as we can.”

I said, “I’ll go get Kelath ready.” As I walked to the door of the barracks, the Iron Sword hummed upon my back, eagerly anticipating the beginning of our first adventure together. I touched its hilt as I walked into the sunshine, its power singing in my blood.

I was the Bearer of the Iron Sword, and I knew my journey had just begun.

Preview of Book 2

Continue reading for a preview of Book Two of the Fae War Chronicles,

THE CROWN OF BONES

Coming to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kindle and Nook May 2014!

Prologue

Queen Mab, ruler of the Unseelie Court and all its lands, monarch of the Night and the Winter, once the most powerful being in any world, was not accustomed to defiance. She stood before her delicately carved throne, her slim figure stiff with anger. Fingers of frost crept across the marble around her, and a deadly chill hung in the still air. Her courtiers had left at the first signs of her burgeoning fury, sweeping low curtseys and bowing deeply to their queen before striding away with cat-quiet steps. They feared their queen’s wrath, and the Sidhe feared few things. Only the Walker and the Vaelanseld remained. The silence in the throne room quivered like a live being with her fury. Frost crackled as it reached across the marble floor.

The Fae queen looked down at the Walker, who waited before her on one knee, his face downturned in deference.

“What is your name, Walker?” Mab asked, her voice cool and smooth, counterpoint to the anger blazing in her fathomless eyes. The stars set into her diadem illuminated the kneeling young Sidhe with a harsh white light, but even under such scrutiny he looked up at her calmly.

“Murtagh, your Majesty,” he replied, keeping his green eyes carefully focused on his queen’s lips rather than her eyes.

Mab gazed down at him. His face shone with youth, his pale skin yet undimmed by worry or hatred. He wore his russet hair slightly shorter than custom, but it became him, sharpening the angles of his boyish face into the beginnings of handsomeness. In a century or so, he would catch the attention of many a beautiful woman. The frost spread across the flagstones and reached the young Walker, swirling around him in patterns as delicate as a snowflake. He shivered slightly at its icy touch.

“Murtagh,” Mab said silkily, settling back onto her throne with liquid grace, her eyes slightly hooded. She said nothing more, tilting her head slightly as she watched the young Walker. He bowed his head again and waited. He waited for a long time, remaining perfectly still while Mab observed him.

The Vaelanseld watched his queen carefully as she surveyed the young Walker. He felt her anger, still burning hotly beneath her cool exterior, and her fury was all the more frightening in its flawless concealment. Once, when he had been a young knight, not yet one of the Three, he had gone Maying with the queen and her Court, and he remembered her beautiful face glowing with happiness, her perfect pale lips curved in a smile. But that was long before the great tragedy, the murder of the young princess whose name he could not speak even in his mind, because it was forbidden, and Queen Mab knew all. He carefully directed his thoughts away from that fateful event. He was the oldest of the Three now, and he was the closest to his queen, reading her moods like a Seer peering into a looking-glass, divining her tempers for the rest of the Court. He stood silently by her side, but readied himself to intervene should her fury be misdirected at the young Sidhe kneeling respectfully—fearfully. The boy was afraid, though he hid it well. Reading his Queen had given the Vaelanseld practice and honed his skills. He saw the fear in the depths of the boy’s eyes, divined it from the boy’s slight shiver as the frost caressed him, sliding over his boots and up to his knees.

Finally, after what seemed like hours—what could have been hours—Mab spoke again. “Tell me what you have discovered, Walker.”

A small, almost imperceptible shudder traveled through Murtagh’s lithe body as he raised his face again to the queen. “My Queen,” he began respectfully, his voice fair and courteous, “I Walked to the barracks in the forest as I was instructed. From far away, I smelled death and saw smoke. When I came to the barracks, I saw there had been a terrible battle. I could not go as close as I desired, because there was…a barrier.” He faltered slightly and stopped.

“A barrier?” the Vaelanseld asked after a glance at the queen. “A wall built about the camp?”

Murtagh shook his head. “No, my lord. Not a wall. An invisible barrier which I could not cross. I have never felt anything like it before, and I saw the mortal girl and several others digging in the earth precisely where the barrier began.” He took a breath and steeled himself. “They drew out of the ground pieces of the Weakness.”

Mab made no movement to betray her surprise, but the Vaelanseld saw her eyes sharpen upon the young Walker. “Continue,” he told the boy tersely.

“The mortal girl wore a scabbard upon her back. It looked to be of no importance, old and well-used, but then…I felt it. I do not know how, but I felt it and I knew what it was even beneath the battered sheath.”

Mab leaned forward slightly, ever so slightly, her eyes hungry.

“My lady,” said the Walker, his voice trembling slightly, “the mortal girl has come into possession of the Iron Sword.”

The Vaelanseld took a step forward as Mab straightened sharply from her languid pose.

Murtagh kept very still and raised his chin slightly despite the queen’s sudden movement. “And, my lady,” he continued, “she knew of my presence.”

“You revealed yourself?” the Vaelanseld asked stridently.

“No,” Murtagh replied firmly. “The mortal girl looked at me…and she saw me, even though I did not wish to be seen, even though I was concealing myself.” He paused. “My lady, I saw the Vaelanmavar being led through the camp with bound hands and a guard.”

Mab hissed slightly through her teeth, the sound sliding through the air like wind through the trees at night. “And the girl,” she purred, a hint of some dangerous predator slinking among the shadows of her words, “is she bound by blood to the Sword? Has she marked it for her own?”

“I do not know, my queen,” Murtagh murmured. “All I know is that she saw me when she should not have, and something in her power called to mine.” He lowered his gaze for a moment. “If I may, your Majesty, venture my…opinion.”

Mab waved one hand gracefully, eyes glittering like shards of ice. The Vaelanseld watched with a hard gaze.

“I believe she has been bound to the Sword, though I know little of such matters,” the young Sidhe added humbly. “How else would a mortal have seen me? Her power…it reached out and touched me. It tasted my power, and it deemed that I was not a threat, but it told her that I was there, and she saw me. I also overheard a conversation, in the camp, between two members of the patrol. They said it was only by her power—her power through the Sword, my lady—that the battle was won, and the Shadow driven back, if only for a short time. By their account, she saved them.” Murtagh shook his head. “There was the North-woman with her, my lady, and her wolf. The black wolf.”

The Vaelanseld glanced at Mab’s hands. Her hands were the first to show her anger—other than her eyes, and he couldn’t very well look into her eyes. One of her hands rested on the arm of her throne, and it looked as though she was merely grasping the smooth wood calmly, but the Vaelanseld saw her knuckles, the bone showing starkly through her pale skin as her grip tightened. He turned back to the Walker. “The Queen thanks you for your service. You are free to go.”

Murtagh stood and bowed—it was well known that the Vaelanseld spoke for the Queen from time to time. He turned on his heel smartly and left the throne room. As the great doors slammed shut behind him of their own accord, he heard the beginnings of the Queen’s scream of fury, and he ran.

“My lady, please,” said the Vaelanseld calmly as icy wind shrieked around the throne room. “Such behavior does not become you.”

Mab carved her fingernails into the wood of her throne. “Many things do not become me,” she snarled, her face twisted in fury. She threw herself from the throne and paced before it thunderously, the sound of the bells on her hem crashing over the room like waves breaking on great rocks before a storm.

“My lady,” the Vaelanseld said again, in a reproving tone.

She wheeled upon him. “What would you have me do?” Her mouth thinned. “My power wanes so that I cannot even survey my own realms without the help of a Walker just past boyhood! It is all I can do to keep the Shadow from the gates of Darkhill—and that—that mortal whelp has been bound to the Great Sword.”

The Vaelanseld faced down her tirade unmoved. “She escaped you, your Majesty, and it is understandable that you…dislike…her because of that insult, but the Sword has been found. It is on the field of battle against the Shadow, and that is something we should count among our blessings.”

Mab stood carefully still, listening to her oldest and most trusted Knight. She stared into the distance and then, finally, sank down upon her throne, passing her hand over her eyes. “No-one shall hear of this,” she said with a hint of weariness in her voice.

“As always, I am yours to command, my lady,” the Vaelanseld replied smoothly. The Queen would not apologize for her outburst—it was not the way of queens to do so, and he did not expect it.

“I dreamed that the Vaelanmavar had erred, but I did not think it was a foretelling,” Mab said, an expression of icy serenity reclaiming her beautiful face. “And still I do not know. If the mortal girl and her companions are treasonous, there is a possibility that the Vaelanmavar is still faithful.”

“The Vaelanbrigh is with them as well,” the Knight reminded his Queen.

A small bitter smile touched Queen Mab’s lips. “So I lose one or the other of my Knights, and this mortal girl bears the Iron Sword instead of the fendhionne of the Prophecy.” She shook her head slightly and said silkily, “What a strange turn of events.”

“Indeed, my lady,” said the Vaelanseld, touching the hilt of the Eldbranr. “Indeed.”

About the Author

Jocelyn A. Fox is the author of the epic fantasy novel The Iron Sword, the first book in The Fae War Chronicles. Her second novel, The Crown of Bones, will be published in the spring of 2014.

Jocelyn was born near Philadelphia, and spent her childhood in the idyllic setting of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. After reading The Chronicles of Narnia in the second grade, she devoured every book in the school library and began creating elaborate games based in fantasy worlds that she and her younger brother and sister would play out in the back yard. While she played field hockey, ran on the track team and played flute in the school band, she always made time for a good book and, as she grew older, for writing her own stories. She entertained her friends in middle school and high school by writing epic fantasy stories, which still reside in black-and-white handwritten journals in her closet.

Her thirst for real-life adventure led her to the United States Naval Academy, where she chose to study English amidst the rigors of military training. The duality of analyzing Shakespeare, Whitman and Emerson while learning the basics of martial arts, military strategy and leadership helped form the foundation for the strong female characters in her writing. Jocelyn continued to read throughout her time at the Academy, using books as an escape from the stress of the demanding institution.

After graduation, she reported onboard an East Coast-based destroyer, where she completed training as part of the security reaction force and the Visit, Board, Search and Seizure team. She also graduated from the Navy’s Surface Search and Rescue Swimmer school and serves as a rescue swimmer for her ship. She is constantly awed and humbled by the courage, tenacity and sacrifice of the men and women with whom she has the privilege of serving. Their fighting spirit and sense of fellowship inspire her every day, and her military experiences provide her with ample material to ground her fantasy world in the reality of the modern warrior.

You can find her on:

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/author.jocelyn.a.fox

Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/jafox2010

Amazon Page:
http://www.amazon.com/Jocelyn-A.-Fox/e/B0051DX7G0/